


fool’s gold

by ohcanada



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: #we boom era bc damn what a LOOK for everyone, Alternate Universe, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Forbidden Love, M/M, Slow Burn, Soldier!Mark, Sort Of, Spies & Secret Agents, minor chara death, vigilante!donghyuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-06-27 14:02:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19792390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcanada/pseuds/ohcanada
Summary: every day means a new twenty four hours. it means that everything’s possible again. you live in the moment, you die in the moment, you take it all one day at a time.( where mark goes undercover to hunt down the notorious criminal haechan and finds himself falling for a mouthy street urchin named donghyuck in the process )





	1. here comes the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> loosely based off of marie lu’s legend. something about flirty, mischievous, aladdin-esque robin hood!hyuck is so charming to me.

Johnny had said that the last thing anyone should ever do at NEO was break the rules or draw unwanted attention to themselves. That the SM Republic would have a person's family slaughtered before their eyelashes met in a blink. 

But Mark _really_ couldn’t help it when they’d somehow tied Yeeun to the flagpole on the university’s roof for being the only girl at the college. So naturally, he scaled the building and let the poor thing go.

His body was agile, a finely-tuned machine that leapt from precariously acquired footholds with the grace of a lion. Nothing short of what could have been expected from the 19 year-old prodigy. Not physically, anyway. But behaviourally? He knew he was done for. Now he was sitting in the back seat of John's car, head hung low as he bore the scoldings with ears that were dyed red in shame. 

"Goddamnit, Minhyung! One more fuck up, Commander Taeyong said, _one_ more fuck up and you're _out_. They had to use _helicopters_ to get you down! Being the only person in history to score a perfect 1500/1500 on the Trials doesn't get you get a free pass to acting like a Class A dickhead." 

"Sorry, hyung," Mark whispered, finally lifting his gaze to meet Johnny's in the rearview mirror.

He wouldn't dare argue with him, not when he had pulled out the full first name. John was _not_ happy. 

But Mark wasn't sorry for helping Yeeun — and it wasn't _his_ fault that Taeyong had gone overboard and sent helicopters after him, but he knew that he was painting both his and his brother's names black when they were gold. 

The older officer sighed, pulling the car into their driveway, no doubt tormenting himself for scolding Mark so harshly.

"So," he began, almost begrudgingly. "How long did it take you to make ten stories?" 

Mark grinned. "Seven and a half seconds." 

.:*:. 

"I'll be back before midnight, yeah?" Donghyuck reassured, crouching before his two younger brothers, handing them water skeins and a small vial.

"Jisung, make sure that Chenle has a few sips every half an hour. Keep him hydrated and the second you feel his temperature rise, you give him the suppressant - but don't use it for a false alarm, in case you waste it and I come back empty handed -"

"Hyung, I know. I'm better at this than you." There was no malice, no cruelty to Jisung's words, yet he still felt his heart squeeze in his chest. He had grown up faster than Donghyuck could comprehend, with burden weighing down on the youngest's gangly shoulders.

"Take care of your brother," was all he could manage without his voice breaking.

Then he turned his eyes to Chenle, who sat slumped against the decaying warehouse wall. With hollowed out cheeks, and blue veins snaking up the sides of his pale face, his brother's eyes had now turned a terrifying reddish-black from his bleeding irises.

The plague was taking its toll. 

"Will I ever be able to see again, hyung?" he asked, voice wavering, eyes searching the darkness. The sound was weak, exhausted from fighting the virus sapping his life away. 

Donghyuck wanted to hug him, pull him close and tell him to trust him. But he couldn't risk infection too ; stealing one plague cure was hard enough, two or three would be a suicide mission.

"Hopefully by tomorrow morning, champ," he promised, keeping his voice light, ruffling his limp hair.

He was glad that his brother couldn't see the lie on his face. 

.:*:.

Donghyuck wasn’t in the mood to be arrested, so he kept the plan simple.

He left the crumbling warehouse and travelled via rooftops, taking his time zigzagging around blocks to avoid a leaving coherent trail, and watching out for anyone potentially following.

The night out was gratifyingly cool, and the lack of light pollution in the poor sector had truly brought the stars out. 

With a pair of fighting knives tucked in the sides of his boots, he had rubbed mud into his raspberry-pink hair so that it looked more black, and tucked the curly strands into a ratty newsboy cap. He covered his hands, face and one side in pig’s blood swiped from a nearby butcher’s, and faked a doubled over limp as he neared the hospital.

As the pristine, glowing building came into view, he had try to avoid flinching at the notice plastered near the door.

**WANTED**

Name: “Haechan”

Age: Unknown

Height: Unknown

Reward: 2,500,000 Republican Notes

And underneath the poster was an image of what the authorities suspected he looked like. This time, he was a Caucasian boy who seemed to be about twelve, with bright blue eyes and dark blond hair. Sometimes he was red-headed, sometimes Latino ; once, Jisung had sworn he’d seen a boy with an eyepatch in the poster.

The Republic didn’t know anything about Donghyuck - about Haechan - except that he was young and a general nuisance. A Robin Hood figure of sorts that blew up Republican fighter jets and deposited rations intended for the warfront to the poor. 

“Hey - kid! What’re you doing?” The soldier guarding the entrance had his gun raised, poised and ready to shoot in case he caused any trouble. 

Though he had been expecting it, his heart still skittered at his chest. One wrong word, and a shard of metal would be tearing through his skin - and his brothers would be sitting prey.

“Easy, cousin,” Donghyuck responded, voice strained, raising his blood-stained hands up in surrender with a painstakingly slow pace. “Got stabbed getting mugged, yeah? Just looking for some bandages.” 

The soldier frowned, lowering his weapon to step closer and quickly pat him down. His lip curled, nostrils flaring as he hesitatingly touched the curves of his biceps and torso to search for hidden weapons. A Republican soldier was above street rats, after all. 

“Can you pay for it?” he demanded ; doubtful, scornful. 

“Will 80 Notes cover a roll of bandages?” Donghyuck asked, voice naive and hopeful. He even went out of his way to angle his head so that the fluorescent hospital lights caught his eyes, innocent and shining. 

The soldier guffawed, grabbing Donghyuck by the arm and quite literally dragging him through the automated glass doors. “You know there’s a war on, right, kid? Good luck on getting a nurse to even _look_ at you.”

The boy made a show of looking around at the waiting room hopelessly, the stench of disease and disinfectant dancing through the air before began dry heaving. 

Donghyuck clung onto the man for support, his whole body wracked with violent coughs. 

“ _Fuck_ , you plague-infested pig!” the soldier snarled, shoving him off of his body with enough force to send Donghyuck to the cold, linoleum ground. 

He coughed still, clutching his ‘injured’ side until the soldier left muttering obscenities to himself. 

Then, the nation’s most wanted criminal reached into his pocket, fingertips running over the smooth metal of the soldier’s access key to the hospital.

.:*:. 

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Donghyuck had been in the hospital for three minutes and forty-eight seconds now.

Three minutes and forty-eight seconds since the security cameras located at the entrance filmed a struggling black-clad boy with his face hidden enter.

He had perhaps another six minutes until the soldier peered inside the hospital again to look for him, or until a nurse noticed he had disappeared - that is, if he were lucky. 

But being a street rat wasn't a lucky job. 

So when he had sleekly toed into the third floor at precisely four minutes and thirteen seconds whilst successfully avoiding all screaming plague patients and rushing surgeons, he felt his stomach drop. Still, Donghyuck pushed through. His eyes scanned the room methodically, taking inventory of windows, lights, cameras, tables and the like.

” _Fuck_ ,” he hissed under his breath, finally finding the specially marked glass fridge for plague cures.

It was empty, save for two vials of suppressants. 

But it was better than nothing ; delaying the plague was just a step down from a cure. (Albeit a rather large step down).

With blood roaring in his ears, Donghyuck swiped the vials, mind racing a thousand miles per hour - he didn’t even wipe his fingerprints from the handle - and gently folded them into a pocket, praying that they wouldn’t shatter. 

In his frenzy, he had stopped counting the seconds. How long had it been? Why could he no longer hear the bustle of the busy hospital? 

_Click_. 

A bullet slid into place. His questions answered.

“Raise your hands slowly and turn around. We wouldn’t want to make a mess in here now, would we?” 

A single droplet of sweat trickled down the side of his face as he raised his hand. Donghyuck's heart beat so very loudly in his throat, a symphony that even Mozart would not have dared composed. He tried to breathe slowly, to use the adrenaline iced in his veins to his advantage. But as he turned around to face the soldiers, grateful that his cap was still pulled low, he felt his muscles go limp with terror. 

He was completely cornered. Two security cameras were trained on him, three soldiers with their guns raised, and a multitude of surgeons and nurses behind them yet. Back-up was probably coming. There were army sirens in the distance. 

"Now, cousin, you're going to slowly remove your cap and tell us your name."

_Wait - Hang on. There's a window._

Donghyuck flicked his shaded eyes at the unprotected glass and felt bile burn in his throat. A single move, and he would be full to the brim with bullets. That racing mind of his that had lead him to fail his Trials at ten years old could think of only one, ridiculously stupid plan.

Immediately, he felt his knees begin to tremble. He had never, _ever_ , been so close to being caught. 

_Jisung. Chenle. I'm so sorry._

"M-my name is Harry Stewart," he said slowly, purposely putting on an accent that belonged to Alta Sector, forcing a (very real) tremor to his voice. He moved equally as slowly, his left hand creeping to the scratchy newsboy cap. “I-I’m from A-Alta. I just-just wanted so-some cures. I c-can pay for them, honest! M-my mother - she’s s-sick.”

Republic knows how many damn awards Donghyuck deserved for his performance, his quivering - half pretend, half very real - loosening the knives in his boots. Already, he could see the soldier’s slacken their grips on their rifles, bored of the same sob story of every starving boy in poverty. 

As his fingertips brushed the rough material of his cap, Donghyuck took in a slow, long breath.

Perhaps even his last, as he tossed the cap as far away from himself and snatched up his daggers.

Shouts shook the earth, and the acrid smell of smoke from the gunfire hung heavy in the room, the light blinding as the soldiers shot at the useless piece of fabric, believing it a weapon. They were startled enough for him to throw one of his daggers, the silver blade burying itself in the closest soldier's shoulder, distracting them enough to make a break for the window. (He couldn't possibly understand how numbats like them had passed the Trials where he had failed). 

There was a sharp, searing pain in his arm. And then half a second later, a bullet made a pinprick hole in the window before him, spiderwebbing outwards. The goddamned pain exploded through every nerve fibre of Donghyuck's being, white-hot and causing his entire right side to lose feeling. 

_I've been shot. Clean through the goddy bicep_ was his only thought as he hurtled himself out the cracked window, bits of glass scraping at his face and neck, as he somersaulted three stories down.

He hadn’t had time to prepare for the fall, instead smashing his right elbow into the earth, mouth full of mud. Unable to help himself, Donghyuck let out a scream that had soldiers’ boots already rushing into his direction. His ears rang and head swam, he couldn’t separate shadows from light, both dancing tauntingly before his eyes.

It was the epinephrine that shocked his body into action. 

He felt as if he were watching his life play out before him on a screen on mute. He couldn't hear anything, couldn't quite process anything. The world was moving far too fast for him to comprehend.

Dry-heaving, Donghyuck pulled himself to his feet. The only thing he could feel was something hot and sticky on his injured arm, but he didn't think he could stomach a look.

He could vaguely hear men shouting, could barely see the reflections of blue and red in the distance. Back-up was coming, and he was still stumbling around like a fucking idiot at the edge of the hospital. A desperate sigh tore out of Donghyuck's throat as he took one step at a time, dizzy and nauseous enough to prevent him from running. The adrenaline in his veins began to dilute, it's effect wearing off immediately and making him acutely aware of the bullet wound in his arm, the wretched thing dripping like a river. 

" _For fuck's sake_ ," he growled, his muttered words coming out in a slurred grumble. The nineteen year old tore at the fabric of his long-sleeved shirt as he made his way into the bushes nearby, tucking his head low, out of sight.

Somewhere, he could even hear helicopters. Already, his fingerprints or blood sample from the bullets would’ve been matched to Haechan’s. The Republic wouldn’t let this opportunity to hunt down the nation’s criminal go this easily. If he didn’t move _now_ , his life was forfeit. 

Donghyuck’s calloused fingers stumbled to tie the torn fabric around his gunshot wound in a tourniquet. He knew that the blood loss was severe. His hands had gotten clammy, his face felt drained, and his bones had begun to tremble. 

He calculated two minutes and seventeen seconds until he passed out, but then again, Jisung was always better than he was at this kind of thing.

The thought of his brother was enough for him to take off in a light jog, despite his heart screaming for him to stop. Just a few more steps was all he needed to get into the abandoned catacombs. Just a few more breaths and he would be safe. 

Just a few more.

But he could still hear the copters and he couldn’t differentiate sirens from the howls of a bloodhound. 

He was panting heavily now, sweat beading his forehead. He found the hidden entrance, squeezing behind a boulder to make it into the dusty, parasite infested tombs, clenching his teeth to stop himself from letting out an earth-shattering cry when his arm exploded with pain.

Just a few more steps.

Donghyuck shoved the boulder back into place, scraping his fingernails bloody in the process. Stars danced in front of his eyes as he gasped in big lungfuls of dead air, boots thumping against the earth.

He didn’t know how long he walked. Perhaps it was two steps, perhaps two hundred. All he knew was that as soon as the sounds of the outside world died out, Lee Donghyuck collapsed. 


	2. doesn’t it drive you crazy just how fast the night changes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok but ... regular era mark & jaehyun for this chapter fam jus imagine that fine piece of canadian maple moose and I Want Milk bitch

Mark liked to think of himself as a pretty smart guy. Sure, he was no Einstein, but he was decently above average. After all, he was the only person in SM Republican history with a perfect Trial score, he was top of his class of people in their mid-twenties, skipped multiple years at NEO, and he was _really_ good at chess. 

So he supposed that he had a relatively good ass brain working for him. But when Commander Taeyong called him at exactly 00:05, that brain of his shut down. 

“Yes, sir?” he asked, sitting up ramrod straight in his silk bedsheets, the book on astrophysics resting on his lap now falling to the floor with a dull thud. 

“ _Lee, get down to Lake DC Sector hospital_.” 

Though he knew that he had already crossed several lines with Commander Taeyong that day, he couldn’t help but blurt an alarmed “Sorry?” 

“ _Congratulations_ ,” crackled the voice on the other end of the line, devoid of all warmth. “ _You’ve been promoted. Now get down to the goddamned hospital. General Jung is on his way to collect you_.”

The call clicked off. A cocktail of pride and relief flooded through him, making him sag back into his feather pillows, eyes fluttering shut with gratitude. 

"Jaehyun’s coming to take me to the hospital where Johnny is, I presume,” he murmured to himself, disbelieving. “I’m getting _deployed_.” 

Excitement began to prick the base of his neck, slowly but surely spreading through his limbs and electrifying his fingertips. Then, Mark let out a whoop, ripping off his sheets and stumbling into his bathroom to wash his face. 

He would need to freshen up, of course. Slick back his hair for his first night on the job, straighten out his rarely-worn uniform with no special insignias or epaulettes. “Surely John hyung wouldn’t mind me using his cologne this one time,” he reassured himself, drowning himself in more of the scent than necessary. 

Within ten minutes, precise as every other high-ranking soldier, Jaehyun arrived at their door. 

“Evening, new Officer Lee,” greeted the most handsome man Mark had ever laid eyes on.

General Yoonoh Jung, commonly referred to as Jaehyun for some strange reason, was the third highest ranking officer in the Lake Squadron, right behind Captain Youngho Seo and Commander Taeyong.

With his honey-brown hair styled up to expose his forehead, Jaehyun greeted Mark with a two-fingered salute and eyes that shone brighter than the impressive array of medals and badges pinned to his chest. 

“Heard the news then, hyung?” Mark asked, fighting to keep the blush from his high cheekbones. (Yes, yes, he was like every other teenage girl that crushed miserably on her older brother’s best friend). 

“First one who got it,” Jaehyun grinned, clapping his hand onto his shoulder. “I’m so beyond proud of you, Mackerel, and I know Johnny will be too.”

Mark didn’t know when the nickname stuck or when Jaehyun had dropped the honourifics with Johnny. All he knew was that Jaehyun belonged in his life as much as his brother did. The pair had practically raised Mark when the Seo-Lees had died in the war effort thirteen years ago. 

_“Promise me you won’t leave like Mom and Dad did?” a feverish eleven year old Mark had asked, lying in bed with a cold towel over his forehead._

_“Promise,” Johnny had reassured, squeezing his hand. Only fifteen yet having carried the responsibility of a child since ten. “Until you’re sick and tired of seeing me, Mackerel.”_

_“Me too! I promise too!” An overenthusiastic Yoonoh had called, bounding into the room with newly-bought flu medicine. Giving Mark a toothy smile, the thirteen year old unscrewed the cap of a vial containing bright pink liquid._

_“We’ll be by your side until the end of time,” John had said. “Until this world is a whisper of dust between the stars.”_

.:*:.

Pulling up at the hospital, Mark felt his stomach clench. There were flashing lights, helicopters, swarms of soldiers yet very little chaos.

Apparently, Jaehyun had similar thoughts. “ _What_ is going on?” he murmured, casting a bewildered glance at Mark, brows creased with concern. 

They descended from the sleek SM Army Jeep, trained eyes searching through a small crowd of hospital staff and Republican officers for the Commander and his second, the Captain. 

“General. Officer Lee.” 

Commander Taeyong met the pair just outside the hospital doors, his face grave enough to make the blood rain from Mark’s face. 

Still, like finely sharpened blades he and Jaehyun were, their muscles acted on pure instinct drilled into them since ten years old ; feet coming together and fingers meeting their brows in perfect salutes. 

“We had a break-in from Haechan,” was all he said, lips pressed into an impossibly thin line. He signalled with one finger for the pair to follow him, leading them into the pristine facility that was far too advanced to be located in such a poor sector. 

Mark couldn’t help the way his eyes counted the number of patients in the weighting room (sixty five) or the number of fluorescent lights that lined the ceiling (twelve by four), just like he couldn’t help the questions that tumbled from his curious lips. 

“Break-in from Haechan? Was something stolen? Did the security cameras pick anything up? Have the staff been interviewed? Has Captain Youngho been-”

Jaehyun shot him a warning glance and brotherly pinch to the side to get him to _shut_ _up_ because he had already surpassed Taeyong’s tolerance range today. 

But the Commander paid him no heed, gliding along the white tiles with morbid silence, his cape billowing out behind him like a phantom. 

He frowned. Mark’s supposedly brilliant brain couldn’t comprehend why he was so quiet. Perhaps the monetary losses were dire? 

Commander Taeyong lead them to the third floor and into one of the plague-specific labs where the forensic team handed the pair latex gloves and special bags for their shoes.

“This is the crime scene. Photos have been taken already, so move around what you wish - but please, no contamination. We’re not animals here.” His eyes - a haunting, liquid obsidian - momentarily rested on Mark. “Well . . . not all of us.” 

Though shame made his ears burn, Mark kept his chin high and matched Taeyong’s glare with his own. 

Jaehyun, the lifesaver he always was, cleared his throat. “Sincere apologies for the interruption, Commander. But where is Captain Youngho?” 

Something flickered across Taeyong’s face, making Mark’s heart skitter in his chest. Regret? Guilt? Anger? It passed just as quickly as it came, without a trace of what it could’ve been. 

“That’s what I wanted to speak to you both about.” Taeyong began, lacing his fingers behind the small of his back, his jaw set. “First and foremost, congratulations to you both. Jung, you’re the new Captain of the Lake Squadron. Lee, you’re General.” 

Both Mark and Jaehyun started at the same time, collective gasps and outbursts.

“I haven’t yet graduated — I thought I was only being promoted to a soldier —”

“How is that possible — Where is Johnny going?” 

The Commander’s eyes narrowed in a way that shut the almost-brothers up immediately. A chill snaked down Mark’s spine, prickling the hairs at the base of his neck. 

“You mean to tell me that you are some of the highest ranking officers in the SM Republic, and you can’t _control your goddamned mouths_?”

Though he was only speaking to Mark and Jaehyun, the entirety of the forensic team had stopped, still as death. Taeyong hadn’t shouted, hadn’t looked in their direction. But the sheer power he possessed rolled off of him in heavy waves.

His quiet voice glittered with a deadly threat, his nose curled in a snarl. “Question me like a common street whore again and I’ll have the pair of you fed to the orphans in quarantined sectors.” 

Jaehyun visibly gulped in the corner of Mark’s periphery, neck bent, eyes on the ground. 

Taeyong kept their gaze on them for a few more seconds, his eyes burning holes into Mark’s skin. The forensic team began to silently file out of the labs in pure terror. 

That was when Mark noticed the white sheet on the ground. 

Commander Taeyong’s eyes followed his line of vision when Mark’s head perked up with curiosity, the question dying on his lips. 

“This is what I called you both here for,” he said, striding over. There was a new undertone to his voice, something softer. He nodded to the only remaining forensic scientist who, with trembling hands, partially pulled the sheet away.

“What a waste of a good soldier,” Taeyong began, lip curled in disgust.

Mark couldn’t hear him.

The sound of the earth shattering and Jaehyun’s screams drowned out the rest. 

He felt his knees hit the tile floors, the impact not affecting his body in any way. Not when Jaehyun had crouched over Youngho, had cradled his head to his chest.

His lips were still their stunning shade of pink, his lashes still fanning his full cheeks — so why wasn’t he getting up? Why wasn’t he hugging Jaehyun back? Why wasn’t he calling Mark by his nickname and promising that he would never leave? 

When Jaehyun’s body convulsed with the full force of the sobs that tore out of his throat, when Johnny’s eyes didn’t open, Mark began to hyperventilate. 

“Hyung,” he rasped, reaching a quivering hand out, face contorting with grief. “Hyung, please. Hyung, get up. Please.” 

Mark placed his hand on Johnny’s chest - warm with blood - still disbelieving. Waiting. Waiting. _Waiting_ for the heartbeat that never came. 

A wrecked gasp for air, a fist curled around the material of his uniform, and a bowed head.

“Hyung, you promised,” he whispered, voice finally breaking, fracturing under the weight of the world that had just left his heart in powdered glass. He shouted the last part. “ _You promised you wouldn’t leave_.” 

Grief wove its way into every crevice of Mark’s body. His forehead buried itself into Jaehyun’s shoulder, where the other - the only person Mark had left in the world - rested his head on top of Mark’s own.

His tear-filled eyes made his gaze blurry, but he was desperate to memorise his brother’s face, terrified that the sharp features would be lost in time.

He tried to hard to picture John’s bright smile that left his eyes in crescent-moons. The same smile that would never look at his soulmate or his child, the same smile that would never beam at Mark with pride again. The smile that would never see the light of day again, that would never have another moment of love and happiness. The smile that had been lost at a mere twenty-four years old.

“Hyung, we were supposed to have forever together. Until this world was a whisper of dust between the stars.” 

.:*:.

Mark and Jaehyun stayed in that position until their bones had gone stiff and the blood on John’s chest had dried. They stared helplessly at the body of their beloved, of the darling who wouldn’t move. 

Someone cleared their throat from behind.

The newly-appointed General slowly turned his head, Jaehyun following. He couldn’t feel his own muscles move, couldn’t feel his eyes swollen from crying — all he could feel, all he knew, was that Johnny was dead and that his body was numb with devastation.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your mourning, but we need to remove the body and clean up the rest of the crime scene.” Commander Taeyong, to his credit, actually looked rather sorrowful. “Another reason that I called the pair of you here was that I wanted a fresh set of eyes. Perhaps someone more . . . attached to Capt - to Youngho, would see things we couldn’t.” 

Beside him, Jaehyun nodded, stricken. He stood up gingerly, as if even breathing was far too difficult a task to be completely. 

“Mark,” he murmured, voice just as ravaged as he looked, with glassy eyes that never left Johnny. “Mark, come on. We have to get up.” 

A gentle, gloved hand made its way around Mark’s shoulder, pulling him up. 

It woke the teenager up, leading him to remove the blood-stained latex gloves with such fervour it would appear they electrocuted him. He hastily rubbed at his cheeks to rid himself of stray tears and straightened his back.

_Chin up, Mackerel!_

Mark almost broke down again.

Instead he took a shuddering breath and began to walk around the scene in a zombie-like daze, brain working automatically whilst his heart desperately searched for shattered pieces worth repairing.

“Haechan did this?” Jaehyun demanded, his voice so strong that it startled Mark. His cinnamon eyes were bright with a newfound fire, albeit still carrying the same ghosts Mark did. 

Taeyong nodded in affirmation. 

“The wound in his chest . . . then he’s right-handed?” 

Before Taeyong could respond, Mark cut in. “Ambidextrous. The prints made on the fridge handle were done by a left-hander. Also, the entry wound into the heart is incredibly precise - either it was close range or Haechan has impressive aim.” 

He moved away from the fridge and picked up the specially sealed bag containing the murder weapon. It was an expensive-looking fighting knife splattered in his brother’s blood.

Mark felt like he was going to be sick. Yet he forced himself to examine the stained object, squinted eyes mechanically picking at details. 

“Furthermore, the pattern of the blade’s handle cuts off abruptly — meaning it’s part of a set. Most likely a pair. It’s expensive, the weapon ; it must have been worth a healthy liver and both of his kidneys on the Black Market. But since Haechan has never shown any affiliation to the rebel Patriots or been sponsored by the Colonies, it’s clear this wasn’t bought. He doesn’t have the money - that’s why he was stealing plague cures instead of buying them. It has scratches along the base of the handle too, and Haechan isn’t careless, so I assume it was pre-owned, perhaps won in a bet.” 

The remaining forensic scientist coughed out a ‘ _freak_ ’ which had the corner of Mark’s mouth twitching upwards. Immediately, he felt guilty for smiling so soon after his brother’s passing.

The Commander cast an irritated glance at Mark, which he ignored. “I’ll have eyes on the lookout in Alta for the twin weapon then.” 

“Alta?” Jaehyun asked quizzically. “Why Alta sector?”

“If you’re guessing Alta because of his slang or accent, I suggest looking in the opposite direction. It was probably fake. Do you have any of the surveillance footage?” Mark interjected, peering out the window where Haechan had made his escape. 

Commander Taeyong let out a huff suggesting that he was unimpressed by Mark’s analysis. (Why had he asked for it then?). 

“He had taken the cameras out,” the officer answered simply. 

Jaehyun made a sort of strangled sound in his throat, his teeth clenched and brows furrowed. “Surely the security here would have noticed that he had tampered with the cameras? And with all due respect to the nation’s criminal and all, but where on earth would he get tech advanced enough to ruin a government facility’s? Even so, isn’t that a big excessive, even for Haechan?” 

The room fizzled into an uneasy sort of silence, with Jaehyun looking unreasonably angry and Taeyong looking at him with a cocked brow and tilted head, as if he didn’t know what to make of Yoonoh.

The sudden tension had his stomach clenching. Mark swallowed a painful lump in his throat.

“May I remind you that Haechan robbed our national bank in ten seconds?” Taeyong asked, his voice taking on the dangerous tone that had most grown men wetting themselves on the spot. 

Jaehyun was always the one to tell Mark that he needed to keep his head down, to draw less attention to himself and remain subservient to the whims of the SM Republic. Yet here he was, in the face of his best friend’s death, defiant as ever. 

As if he could tell that Mark’s concerned glance was upon him, Jaehyun’s entire composure rearranged to one of ease within a second. “You’re right, Commander. Haechan is a dangerous criminal. He’s clearly capable of anything.”

Taeyong pretended to buy Jaehyun’s bullshit enough, though his eyes were saturated with suspicion. Mark supposed the Commander was as exhausted as they were.

“Gentlemen, I grant you both your leave. I will personally attend to Captain Youngho’s funeral. Until then, rest and allow yourselves to mourn. You have lost a brother, after all. After the ceremony, however, I fully expect a plan to track Haechan down. I do not wish to see the rest of our country suffer the same fate as our most talented soldier.”

Each word hit Mark like a bullet wound to the abdomen, knocking the air out of his lungs one by one.

_Johnny hyung is dead. It’s because of Haechan_.

His eyes met Jaehyun’s fire-lit ones, and Mark knew that they shared the same thought.

_Haechan will be suffering a fate worse than John’s soon enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel so awful for making taeyong so mean i love that little bubble of pure babie i swear.
> 
> but :))))))))) how was the first angst chapter :))))) how we feeling :)))))))))))))))))


	3. i'm so famous (so dangerous)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tragic i was more than halfway through this chapter before it crashed :))))) also not to shamelessly promote my faves but all my chapter titles are lyrics / song titles so check them out :D

The first thing Donghyuck was aware of was the throbbing pain in his left bicep. Then the aggressive drill in the back of his skull. He let out a groan as he opened his eyes, lids so heavy it felt close to impossible, and hauled himself up to rest on his good elbow. 

" _Hyung_! Thank _goodness_ you're awake! You’ve been out a day and a _half_! Here, have some water." Jisung's overly-deep voice filled the air, bashing into his eardrums. Donghyuck winced, pushing himself up into a sitting position before a metal flask was pressed to his cracked lips. He threw his head back to drink thirstily, uncaring of the water that dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. 

"How'd you find me?" he asked, voice rough with disuse, fully opening his swollen eyes.

They were back in the warehouse. A cocktail of paranoia and relief sparked him awake - he hated staying in one place for too long, but they were at a decent distance from the hospital to avoid being immediately searched. 

" _Well_ , it was after midnight, and you weren't back, and I was really, _really_ worried, and there were no city-wide alerts to say that Haechan had been captured so I _figured_ you might have been in some sort of trouble -"

While Donghyuck typically adored the way his youngest brother spoke so animatedly, the criminal simply shook his head and waved his good hand at him wearily. His headache was _not_ having it. "Cut it short, pipsqueak."

"Oh okay, yeah - sorry, hyung - but you said you were using the catacombs so that's where I looked, and I _found_ you and it was a _miracle_ that you hadn't been found because you were covered in so _much_ blood and you were there for so long it looked like some of it had even _dried_ , but yeah, your tourniquet was _shit_ but it saved your life - sorry again, hyung - and I fixed it up before carrying you all the way back." 

Donghyuck cocked a brow. " _Your_ scrawny ass carried me all the way back to Lake sector? All alone?" 

"Jeno and Jaemin helped," he muttered slowly. The tips of Jisung's ears turned a slight shade of rose, blending into the colour of his hair - the same colour as Donghyuck's, and once upon a time, Chenle's. That is, of course, before the plague had turned it into that violent shock of orange it was now. 

_Chenle_. 

"Where's carrot-top?" Donghyuck said immediately, guilty for not asking sooner. The sudden panic made his bullet wound pulse sharply with pain. "How is he doing?" 

Jisung jutted his chin to a heap of blankets in the corner, which Donghyuck hadn't even _registered_ as a person until now. "His fever got really bad, hyung," he admitted with a bare whisper, voice wavering. Even his pupils trembled. "I gave him one of the suppressors you brought, but we need a cure. Soon." 

Donghyuck felt his heart stop dead in his chest. "Shit. _Shit_ , Jisung. How long do we have? As soon as my arm fixes up just a little bit, I'll . . . I'll get the money in Skiz fights."

His brother shook his head, fear written plainly in his sharp, poverty-stricken features. "A week. Two, maybe, with the extra suppressors."

The eldest pushed himself off the ground, standing up so fast that dizziness almost sent him tumbling down again, brightly coloured spots filling his vision. "Fuck. I'll go down now to _JJR's_ and see what I can win today -"

" _Hyung, are you crazy_?" Jisung shouted, looming over Donghyuck, striking him dumb with the outburst. 

_When did the youngest get so tall? When did he become the protector? It's my job, not Jisung's_ he thought absently. _It was me who had promised mother to protect the children, not Jisung._

Donghyuck fixed him with a hard gaze, jaw set. “Two days. I’ll wait two days until the Lake Skiz tournament. Then, we move to Ruby Sector’s tournament.”

“Two days won’t heal a gunshot wound, _hyung_.” There was a certain condescending tone to his voice, a cruel reminder that Jisung was the only one of the three brothers to pass his Trials with flying colours, the only one who had made it into a Preliminary Medical Course.

(The SM Republic had deemed Chenle to be relatively intelligent as well as healthy, but too musically inclined to be of any use to society. Donghyuck on the other hand, had failed his Trials for inexplicable reasons. He had finished the Written Exam early, thinking it was beyond easy. And during the Interview and Physical Agility Examination, he had caught scribbles of _short attention span_ and _rebellious_ in his notes, regardless of the fact that he had recited every answer that he knew they had wanted to hear perfectly, monotonously). 

“I’ll get Renjun to use some of his Colonies remedies,” he snapped back, squaring his shoulders. “My baby brother is more _important_ to me than a scratch in my arm.” 

Jisung only turned his back to him.

.:*:.

Mark and Jaehyun hadn’t left each other’s sides for days.

They drifted through the hours, alternating between staring blankly into space and crying. Sometimes they made food to be left untouched before them, sometimes they sobbed into one of John’s old uniforms which still smelled distinctly of him; cologne, a touch of gunpowder - and somehow, kindness. 

Mark was given two days to mourn his brother.

It was on the day of the funeral, standing outside the door of the Memorial Hall, that Mark saw the ring on Jaehyun’s finger. 

Dressed pristinely in the finest white suits delivered to their door - courtesy of Commander Taeyong - with special stylists having done their hair and make up, Mark felt like a posing pansy. He wasn’t getting ready to grieve, draped in the colour of purity, he was getting ready to be displayed as the Republic’s Perfect Score Show Pony. 

“What’s that, hyung?” he had asked, voice cracking, voice raw with agony. 

Jaehyun’s eyes were full of anguish as he tugged at a chain around his neck to reveal a ring, matching to the silver band around his finger. “We - We were . . . We were going to be . . engaged.” 

He forced the final word out, devastated, as if it were scraping at his throat as it tried to find its way to freedom. 

“I . . . I found it in his wardrobe. Look, Mark, it has our names engraved in Hangul . . . in Hangul, Mark. I-I’ve never seen it before. I didn’t know there were still people who knew how to write in it . . ”

It took a few long moments for the weight of his words to settle into his bones. For the truth to crash down upon him with the force of a cyclone. He wanted to be shocked, to be angry that his brother had kept a secret so huge from him.

But he couldn’t be. Not when a small part of him had always known. When he had always seen the way Johnny pushed Commander Taeyong to promote Jaehyun, the way his hands would linger on him after straightening his uniform, the way he would sneak in a kiss to his cheek when he thought Mark wasn’t looking. 

“I’m sorry,” Mark croaked, eyes drifting to the beautiful metal band that hung at his chest. “I’m so sorry that you two couldn’t have your forever.” 

Jaehyun only smiled sadly at him, gesturing to the mahogany double doors. “Chin up, Mackerel. Let’s show these Republicans what it takes to break us.” 

He nodded in response, ignoring the ache in his chest as he quoted Johnny. Then, with a deep breath, he pushed open the doors as he and Jaehyun both faced the world. 

Mark had been to only one funeral before : his parents’. He didn’t remember much of it, just flashes of crying faces and elegant white couture.

Coming to Johnny's however . . . Anger, the first real emotion he had felt since Youngho’s passing, began to heat his insides, searing the skin. Why was there a lively party before him? Why was there a gourmet buffet lining each wall? A _mariachi_ band in a corner? 

"What the _hell_ is this bullshit," Jaehyun swore under his breath. Mark snuck a sideways glance at him, alarmed to see the same fire in his honey eyes that he found the night of Youngho's death. 

Squeezing his hand briefly was the only comfort Mark could offer.

.:*:. 

Johnny's funeral had been a nightmare; and insult to his memory. It was the epitome of elitist supremacy and radical capitalism - everything he had hated about the Republic.

The event's only redeeming quality had been a short video montage of the late Captain's best moments. There were shots of ten year-old Johnny performing exceptionally well in his Trials, graduating Valedictorian of his high school cohort at 18, then top of his class at NEO. Brilliant, gut-wrenching shots of him laughing with his colleagues, making perfect bullseyes with assault rifles, and distributing food to the poorer sectors. 

Jaehyun and Mark couldn't hold their tears back. Now, still exquisitely dressed in white, they were seated in Commander Taeyong's office, discussing Yoonoh's plan to capture Haechan. 

"My soldiers have been spreading the word for the past few hours, but they've seen no response from it," Taeyong said to them, lips pursed unimpressed. 

"It takes time for word to spread in the slum sectors," Jaehyun replied calmly, leaning over to the city-wide map projected in the air between him and Taeyong. "I say we push forwards. Tomorrow night, we station troops here, here and here." 

Mark frowned. "Haechan's not an idiot. He knows that tomorrow night is going to be a trap, and he's going to spend hours monitoring the area. Hell, he might even bring back-up of his own after the hospital fiasco. I think it's better to have just one or two people in the vicinity."

It felt good to get back into routine, to stop wallowing in a thick, bottomless sea of misery. The endless crying and dry-heaving had distorted Mark's sense of time, so much so that Youngho's death felt like a lifetime ago. 

The plan was simple. Ground-based soldiers had been whispering in common pubs and whorehouses that someone with plague cures was giving them tomorrow midnight at the Ten Second Place. Of course, only Haechan would understand the reference to the National Bank.

"I _truly_ hate to say this, but I agree with General Lee, Captain," Taeyong said, not bothering to hide his disgust. "Send him to the Bank in 36 hours time. He's rather scrawny and cowardly looking. If _you_ went, he would suspect something immediately."

Once more blatantly insulted by his superior in front of his own family. Mark's cheeks flamed, the heat making his white suit suffocating. Much to his own dismay, he squirmed in his seat with discomfort.

Taeyong _wasn't_ _wrong_ , and it was the shame coupled with the truth and the embarrassment that made him feel miserable. Yoonoh was tall, handsome, broad-shouldered and built like a soldier. Mark looked . . . well, like Mark. A toothpick with a begrudging amount of lean muscle and a big brain that was never any particular use. 

"Yes, sir," was Jaehyun's only response. Mark barely caught the way his shoulders sagged fractionally, weighed down by defeat.

.:*:.

"Hyuck, I'm _telling_ you, no tea leaves are gonna heal _that_ monstrosity," Renjun insisted, cleaning out a tall glass with a filthy rag. 

"Jun, I'm _telling_ you, you're handing out free plagues to everyone with your disgusting hygiene," he shot back, chugging the remaining dregs of his a pint of cheap, watered down beer. The bitter taste numbed the ache in his arm.

"Hey! Keep talking shit, and I'll make you pay my rent," the Colonies refugee snapped, flicking the cloth at Donghyuck's nose with impressive aim, the lilting undertones of his accent beginning to sparkle.

"You don't pay rent."

"I stand here and look pretty. It works fine for Dumb and Dumber," he replied simply, leaning onto the bar, bracing himself on his elbows. 

_He sure as fuck isn't wrong about that_ , Donghyuck thought, albeit tipsily. It wasn't a secret that he found Renjun attractive - _everyone_ found him attractive. He offered an exotic beauty and stories of a faraway land. 

Today especially though, he had glitter swiped onto smokey eyes, and ears adorned with multiple studs and rings. Expensive, _untouchable_. No doubt gifts from his long line of admirers, men and women alike. 

He was a jewel in the dingy little pub with dim lights, Republican parasites and opium smoke wafting in the air. 

"Don't act like you don't love them," Donghyuck retorted, glancing over at Jeno and Jaemin, frequent Skiz tournament winners and organisers, as well as part-time rappers, currently performing on a makeshift stage.

"Love is a dangerous word, Hyuck," Renjun murmured softly, voice barely audible over the buzz of the music. 

Donghyuck was _not_ drunk enough to be getting _this_ emotional at six in the evening. 

"Oh yeah, tell me about it, cousin. Love got me shot in the arm tryna look for plague cures. By the way, tell JJ I owe them one for helping Jisung carry me back." 

He had always thought that certain people knowing his identity would make him neurotic, would drive him to even murder if it threatened his brothers. But there was an inexplicable bond between the four of them - perhaps they had found a unity in their shared birth years - that made Donghyuck rest at night with ease. If anything ever happened to him, he knew that the other three would welcome Jisung and Chenle with open arms. They would fill his brothers' bellies with warm food, clothe their thin backs with soft clothes, and offer them a roof over their heads as well as a means to make their own livelihood without descending into prostitution. Perhaps having the trio by his side made him more reckless. 

"Speaking of plague cures," Renjun began, lowering his voice and casting a glance around to ensure no one was listening in. He gazed at Donghyuck with unnerving intensity, making his breath hitch momentarily. "There have been . . . whispers." 

". . About?" 

"Someone's handing out plague cures at the National Bank tomorrow evening, calling it the Ten Second Place-"

Donghyuck inhaled sharply, eyes already gleaming at the new opportunity.

"Hyuck, _no_. It's _clearly_ a trap for Haechan. Two days after a hospital break in, they're giving him a chance to pick up the plague cures he wanted at the place that made him famous."

Renjun was intelligent. Smarter than anyone Donghyuck had ever met. He did little things like this - like speaking about Haechan in third-person, to avoid any suspicion from anyone - that made his unique intellect shine through. It was because of him alone that _JJR's_ was never shut down for the illegal Skiz fights or drug deals, despite everyone in the Republic knowing the ongoings of the pub. 

"Don't you worry," Donghyuck grinned, leaning back into his barstool with finality. Mischief glittered in his eyes. Probably the same mischief that had lead him to fail his Trials.

"Haechan's the nation's best criminal. They're gonna have to do a bit better than wave plague cures in his face to catch him."

.:*:.

"Do you have your pistol? Your mic and earpiece? Your bulletproof vest?" Jaehyun fussed, tucking Mark's hair into a black woollen beanie, fitting it snugly over his head. 

" _Yes_ , hyung. I'm good to go," he reassured him, the ghost of a genuine smile on his face. "I promise."

Yoonoh frowned, biting his lip. His brows were knit tightly with worry, forehead creased with concern. "I can't bear losing you too, Mackerel," he murmured finally, pulling Mark into a bone-crushing hug. 

"Until we're a whisper of dust between the stars, right, Cap?" he replied with a watery smile, eyes unreasonably bleary with tears. 

"Right, kiddo. Now go smash this misson, and show Taeyong he doesn't know shit about the Republic's prodigy." 

For the first time in days, Mark smiled properly. 

.:*:. 

General Mark Lee was meticulous, like any good soldier should be. He left at exactly ten p.m., and spent a decent forty-five minutes making sure that he wasn't being followed. Then he spent an additional forty-five scouting a one-mile radius along the Bank, keeping his eyes out for a flicker of life. 

He then spent his final half-hour simply at the foot of the Bank's entrance. There were bright street lamps in this area - they were in the decently richer Eden Sector, after all - and even brighter advertisements flashing on the JumboTrons. But not a whisper of a soul on the streets. 

Midnight came and went, to no avail. 

Mark, dressed like any goddy rich-sector kid, clicked his tongue to turn on the microphone chipped inside his cheek. "No sign of him, hyung. Maybe word didn't get around?" he whispered, eyes scanning the rooftops, a hand resting at the vials of plague cures at his hip. 

" _I say wait another half hour. Maybe he's waiting for you to make the move_." 

"Copy that," he murmured, clicking his mic off. 

Mark wrung his hands and slumped against the Bank steps with a frustrated groan, playing up the image of spoiled child.

"Hello?" he called out, dragging out his vowels. He was glad that the microphone he was wearing also changed his voice, making him sound younger. Whinier. "Anyone there?"

A part of him hated that he didn't need to fake the rich-sector accent. 

A click. 

If he had been breathing too loudly, he would have missed it. Mark stilled, each muscle fibre contracting with nearly a decade's worth of rigorous military training. Then, the faint buzzing of the city lights grew imperceptibly louder. 

Someone had tapped the JumboTrons.

Mark had been still for too long. He went back to complaining loudly, calling out for a voice he knew was waiting. 

" _Almost fooled me, cousin_." 

The voice was distorted, static-like. It came from all different directions with different echos, from every single JumboTron and Bank speaker. Mark couldn't pinpoint a location, an age or an accent to the voice.

He had to hide an impressed smile. It was what he would have done. 

Then he remembered he was speaking to his brother's murderer and immediately scrambled to his feet, ripping at the plague cures and holding them out in his palms, arms outstretched. In plain view. A sitting duck. Vulnerable and full of hatred. 

"I'm sorry my acting wasn't up to your standards," Mark retorted. 

There was a delicate, breathy chuckle.

A murderer with a sense of humour then. Refreshing.

How could he laugh so freely, knowing that he ended a life? That he had put an end to a stranger's story?

" _Where are your back up dogs, cousin_?"

"I wouldn't be calling protectors dogs, _cousin._ " Mark spat the term of endearment out, poison burning his tongue. He was getting far too angry, too erratic. Jaehyun and Johnny wouldn't have gone down this road. 

This time, Haechan let out a full, throaty laugh. It made the speakers squeal painfully, making the General wince.   
  


" _Hot damn, what do they feed you guys at soldier school? Surely they gotta do something to your brains to get you_ this _dumb. There's no way this is natural._ "

Mark felt his cheeks colour, humiliation burning at the back of his throat. He felt sick. Nauseous with the failure brimming in his stomach, nauseous with the effect of constantly being chastised by his superiors and now his enemy, nauseous at the easy conversation with his brother's murderer. 

" _Keep your plague cures, cousin. I'm not desperate enough to nick them from a Republican pig_."

There was a final click before the buzzing of electricity dimmed down. He had disconnected his microphone. 

"You were never going to take them anyway," Mark said aloud, realisation dawning upon him as his gaze fell upon a sleek, white security camera. (An alarmingly old model. Anyway, It was too dark even with the lights, and the footage would be too grainy for him to be recognised). 

Haechan hadn't even been on the same block. Mark should have guessed with the amount of static he had heard. The criminal was probably sitting in a basement half a mile away, watching him through the Bank security cameras. 

The three of them had underestimated him. Haechan had evaded capture for six years, broken into government facilities with ease, and had hacked regional security systems.

And Mark's team thought they could have lured him in with an infantile trap. 

The street lamps flickered once only, as if to affirm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OO00O000OOH SO THEY'VE FINALLY MET!!! HOW'RE WE FEELING LADIES?????? LEAVE YOUR COMMENTS BELOW!! THEY TAKE HALF A SECOND TO WRITE, BUT THEY MAKE MY ENTIRE DAY!!!!! I HOPE YOU GUYS ARE ENJOYING READING IT SO FAR BECAUSE I'M ENJOYING WRITING IT!!!!!!!


	4. underground king

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what to tell y'all except to settle down with some popcorn and 3d glasses bc now the introductory chapters are over, shit gets WILD

* * *

“I exhaust more of my resources on you than I'd like to admit, Lee Donghyuck," Renjun muttered, sniffing in distaste.

Despite his thorny front, the refugee's slender fingers worked deftly as they wrapped a poultice around his injured bicep. He was gentle in his practice, and Donghyuck liked to admire the lines of his face when they were softened with concentration, all callousness lost in his expertise. 

"And yet, despite your complaining, you do it anyway," Donghyuck grinned, dull pink hair falling into his eyes. "It's okay, I know I'm a catch."

Renjun shot him a dark look. "What if I _accidentally_ tripped and _accidentally_ poisoned your blood?" 

"Easy, tiger. You can't kill _JJR's_ fourth best-selling attraction." 

"Don't be that harsh on yourself, you're doing better than Jeno and Jaemin. Can you believe their latest rap song has a verse ending in 'ice cream'?"

The pair burst into a fit of giggles, an ease filling the dingy supplies closet they were buried in. Out of the three, Donghyuck had always been closest to Renjun, with their matched wit and otherworldly vision of life. If he were drunk enough, he might have even called Renjun his best friend. The quartet as a whole liked to deny their bond, act as if at any given moment they were ready to betray each other because friends were just as dangerous to have as family. Liabilities, traitors. But in the darkest, most secret part of their hearts they knew that they were ride or die, that it was the four of them against the world. 

Renjun finished patching up Donghyuck's left arm, and put a cup of herbal tea in his right. "Bottom's up, sun boy. There's no sign of infection, and your swelling's gone down considerably. This'll kick in in about fifteen minutes to help with any pain and boost your immune system." 

Donghyuck nodded, up ending the dirty cup. Hot tea tasting vaguely of chamomile, mint and a dozen other herbs that must’ve cost a fortune burned his throat as it went down, but the warmth immediately eased his muscles and stopped the incessant buzzing in his head.

“Renjun, you’re a miracle worker,” he gasped, eyes wide with awe as he clenched and uncleaned his fist, surprised to find little pain in doing so.

“We’ll see how much of a miracle it is soon,” Renjun murmured, folding up the rest of his precious gauze and tucking away the remaining herbs in a little wooden box. 

“And, Hyuck?” he said, fixing his gaze on the criminal with the same intensity he did a few days ago, squeezing his shoulder with an iron grip.

Donghyuck repressed a shudder, mildly terrified of the short bartender. “Yeah?” 

“Don’t you dare die.” 

.:*:.

The Lake Sector’s Skiz tournament was huge. One of the most anticipated ones out of the season. 

_JJR’s_ was the host every six months; dozens of people crowded the pub, thirsty for cheap beer, Renjun’s unearthly beauty, JJ’s performances and - mostly - human brutality directed towards anyone but themselves. 

Although the underground street fights were undoubtedly illegal, it didn’t at all stop low-ranking Republican soldiers slapping down their Notes to place bets. In fact, they often encouraged them, sometimes even going as far as to sponsor the competitors.

There were three unspoken rules to Skiz fights. 

1\. No weapons in the ring. 

2\. Each contestant pays 50 Notes to enter. Winner takes all entry fees. 

3\. If you die, tough luck. 

The crowd was already roaring, chanting the names of their favourite competitors when Donghyuck handed Jaemin a handful of Notes, who pressed a stamp onto the back of his tan hand. 

“How’re ya feelin’, Hyuck? D’ya reckon it’ll be alright today?” he asked, voice low, jutting his chin towards his bandaged arm. He was easily the most gentle and affectionate of the four, concern written plainly in his creased brows. 

Donghyuck flashed him an easy grin. “You know I’d be competing in your tournaments even half dead. Is Jeno not in the pool today?”

Jaemin shook his head. “Today’s all for Chenle. But I dunno what it’ll do for the crowd turnout without Jeno, yanno? No offence, duh, but-” 

He waved his hand dismissively. “He’s the most popular Skiz fighter in Lake. Cousin has the whole aggressive muscle thing going on and he puts on a good show. Don’t worry, I’ll make up for it.” 

Jaemin examined his white t-shirt, filthy and damaged with a less than unfortunate hole near the neckline, wide enough to expose one of his collarbones. “Hold on,” he said, leaning over the makeshift stall to tear off the sleeves.

“Hey!” Donghyuck yelped, fighting off Jaemin’s hands. “It’s my only good shirt!” 

Successfully pulling the two strips of fabric from him, Jaemin let out a “ _Ha_!” of triumph and stepped back to admire his handiwork. “Hyuckie, ya ass is gonna _thank_ me for all the sponsors that’ll be all over ya. Oh honey, mess up that hair a little but more too. Yeah, that’s it - there ya go. Now go on, win this tournament.” 

The criminal only rolled his eyes, squaring his shoulders and shaking his hands before joining the crowd.

.:*:. 

After the first plan to capture Haechan had been rightfully labelled a failure, Mark was desperate to redeem himself ; desperate to prove his worth, his title as the Republic’s Prodigy ; desperate to avenge his brother.

It had been his idea to go undercover, taking mere moments to convince the Commander, who seemed eager to have Mark out of his sight. But it had taken hours to convince Jaehyun. 

Under the sweltering summer sun, Mark realised why. He felt moments away from passing out. Dehydration seeped into his very bones, drying out the marrow and leaving him cracked and hollow.

The past few days on the streets already had him filthy, with an incomprehensible stain on his nose bridge and dust wedged into every crevice of his body. He had even begun to pick up Lake sector’s general slang, and mimicked their accent to perfection under his breath. All day he wandered the streets, every few hours he would give Jaehyun status reports on the fruit flies, every night he slept on pebbles that bruised his skin and left him exhausted the next morning. 

The only signs of Haechan were crudely drawn suns in the dirt or scribbled onto battered walls. The poor would pretend to avert their eyes before the corners of their mouths would twitch and their irises gleam. Secrets, and something even more dangerous. 

_Hope_. 

It was hope that kept these people alive. Whole families made of skin and bones draped in stained rags, starving children running around, plague victims searching through bins yet never begging for coins ; all these devastated folk survived each day by keeping their faith flourishing, hoping that one day the sun would rise and their world would change with it. 

Mark wished these people had more than disappointment. 

He often wondered if John had ever patrolled these very streets, if he had watched the heartbreak unfold before him —

Had seen a crowd the size of an airship-? 

Mark’s eyes almost bugged out of his skull when he neared the relatively shabby looking pub. He cautiously drew near, pushing past sweaty bodies and screaming patrons, hesitantly handing in a 3 Note entrance fee. The smell of opium smoke, foul body odour and alcohol wafted through the suffocating airspace, yet his curiosity forced him through; He wanted to know what had gotten the citizens of Lake so fired up, had them stampeding around such a building. 

He felt the air knock out of his chest as he watched a slender male - a _teenager_ \- hop into a crudely drawn ring with a walking nightmare of a man twice his height. 

_Skiz tournament._

The general didn’t know much about them, except that they were illegal underground street fights. Never once did he anticipate the ruckus they would cause, so he found himself hovering forwards still, until he was at the very front. 

Although the taller dude looked like he was going to make kimbap filling out of the other, Mark couldn’t help notice the way that the other boy carried himself.

Even though the match hadn’t started yet, there was a confidence, a security, to him. He was glitteringly charismatic as he reared up the crowd, intelligent in the way that his axis of symmetry was utterly perfect; shoulders and pelvis lining up immaculately. Either the boy had been professionally trained, or his innate sense of balance was incredible.

A part of Mark was impressed.

When the whistle rang out to start the match, Mark couldn’t help but root for the thinner one, the seemingly obvious underdog, shouting with excitement like every other barbarian in the pub. 

Because he _wasn’t_ one. Mark caught the way his dark eyes flickered over his opponent, carefully analysing every tightened cord of muscle, slipping out of reach half a heartbeat early with razor-sharp precision. 

A prodigy in his own respect, the pink haired boy was. 

.:*:.

The first couple of fights were always child’s play. For them, the crowd loved quick bouts, matches that lasted only a few humiliating seconds before the winner triumphed. 

Donghyuck made it to the finals with ease, taking a few blows to his stomach and legs. During the games, he would signal to Jisung, the scrawny innocent thing that stuck out like a sore thumb, to place outrageous bets on him. That way, at least, if he lost the tournament, a few hundred Notes would be in his pocket at the end of the day.

The deciding factor was only moments away. His cinnamon eyes found Jisung’s terrified doe ones. Donghyuck held only one finger up. 100 Notes. He wouldn’t risk any more, not when bile burned in the back of his throat looking at his opponent standing in the makeshift arena. 

Wong Yukhei. _Lucas_.

Another Colonies refugee like Renjun, crossing the Yalu River with nothing but the clothes he was wearing. The devastatingly handsome bastard was more than six feet tall and built like a mountain, scars and tattoos littered over solid muscle. 

_It’s for Chenle.  
_

Shaking his head to clear it of fear, sending sweat-soaked pink strands soaring, Donghyuck cracked his bruised and scraped knuckles before hopping into the ring.

The crowd let out a deafening scream. A part of the criminal ate it all up; he winked at a swooning woman before spinning around and throwing a fist into the air, hollering.

He knew he had to drag this match out, draw blood, take some hits, send Lucas to the ground if he could. It was the finals that the people waited for, lined up to see, paid for. Donghyuck would make it worth their while.

Donghyuck's eyes fell on Jeno's, who was refereeing the tournament. The blond nodded at him only once before putting the whistle to his mouth.

A short, sharp sound rang out. The match had begun. 

Lucas charged forward with the force of a thousand forest fires. The criminal had been fully expecting this, having scrutinised the tournament in its entirety.

He waited, waited, _waited_ , until he saw Lucas’ right hand curl into a fist. Donghyuck narrowly dodged the hook aimed at his left cheekbone, simply slipping under his arm, careful to maintain distance. 

The crowd let out an unconvincing ‘ _aww_ ’ as Yukhei missed, and Donghyuck felt the back of his neck prickle with a touch of anxiety.

He _needed_ to get the crowd screaming. 

The criminal flashed Lucas a bright, shit-eating grin, partially for show and partially because his own bravado was getting the better of him. “Come on, big guy. Surely you can take little old me.”

He even went as far as to drop his guard, hands coming down to his sides as he wiggled his hips tauntingly, trying to entice him forward. 

Lucas pounced faster, _further_ than Donghyuck had expected.

“ _Oops_!” he blurted as Yukhei charged, crossing his arms over his chest as he twirled out of reach. The crowd’s laughter turned into cheering with the split second that it took Donghyuck to use his momentum to send a flying kick into the square of his back, the man stumbling. 

Oh, _fuck_. He was in trouble now. 

The Colonies refugee looked murderous upon regaining his balance. The sheer hatred on his face had the audience jeering, Donghyuck’s heart racing. 

“You’re handsome when when you’re angry, you know that right?” 

Lucas obviously wasn’t having it.

He stepped forwards with his left foot, and Donghyuck reminded himself that it meant another right hook was coming, so he held up his hands to guard his face.

One swipe, then two. Donghyuck only ever dodged, jumped out of the way with a tongue stuck out, teasing him. It took him ages to land a successful jab to Lucas' nose, blood coating Donghyuck’s bruised knuckles. 

The crowd was eating it up, mad with hysteria. Money - real Notes - began floating into the arena from rich patrons, and he couldn’t help but glance up to find Jaemin’s eyes which shone with approval. The adrenaline of it all made the blood rush in his ears. 

Despite his cockiness, he was drenched with sweat by this point, and his muscles begged from him to stop, stop, _stop_ because they were so exhausted from the day’s exertion. And Lucas wasn't an easy opponent, with both brute force, size and strategy on his size. 

He had been too busy looking at Jaemin. The boy didn’t even see the undercut to his stomach coming as Jisung’s warning cry distinctly rang out. 

Donghyuck doubled over in agony, completely winded by the punch to his gut. The crowd screamed in delight, but nothing compared to the sound they made when Lucas unceremoniously grabbed Donghyuck’s head between his hands and smashed his knee into his mouth. 

Having narrowly just missed having his nose shattered, the skinnier boy felt his teeth clash together, mouth filling with hot blood, dribbling from the corner of his lips. 

It left him gasping as Yukhei picked him up by the shoulders, purposely digging his thumb precisely into the little spot of red on his bandage, right into the _fucking_ bullet wound. 

The pain was so excruciating that he couldn’t see anything. It made him convulse in his hands, whimpering, internally begging for it to just _end_.

It had taken a split second for the match to turn from a taunting dance to a bloodbath.

Donghyuck couldn’t stop the cry of pain he let out as he felt the expensive stitches tear under Lucas’s finger, the mountain man tossing him like a broken rag doll. 

His back and head hit the wall. He didn’t even register when his body thumped against the dirty ground. All he could see were the blurred lights, distorted shapes swimming before him, ears ringing at full volume. 

A flesh-coloured lump towered over him. The only thing Donghyuck’s vision had hyper-focused on was the knife in his hand. 

Lucas had a fucking _knife_ in his hand. 

Donghyuck dizzily attempted to scramble away on both hands and knees, a pathetic worm underneath a mighty beast that was prepared to end his life right there and then, before his blood brother and his friends. 

The bare-chested man straddled Donghyuck, one hand against his throat. “I’m going to enjoy carving you out,” he whispered, deep voice thick with the Colonies accent, tip of his knife dragging down the soft curve of his cheekbone. 

Donghyuck could only let out ragged, strangled breaths as he fought for air. He squirmed under Lucas, trying to find some sort of leverage as bright splotches blinded him. 

Barely audible over the sound of his own racing heartbeat, Jisung’s devastated cry of ‘ _hyung!’_ tore through the noise pollution, the crowd that stomped their feet, banged their glasses against wooden tables and let out animalistic roars.

His heart turned to stone, dropping straight into the pit of his stomach as he watched Jisung stumble into the fighting ring.

God. That stupidly brave boy. 

Lucas was startled enough to loosen his grip on Donghyuck’s neck, enough for him to shove his arm away.

Knees still pinning Donghyuck’s hips in place, Yukhei reared his knife hand back. 

Aiming straight for Jisung. 

.:*:.

Mark didn’t know when his body had started moving. Perhaps it had been when the big guy had pulled a knife, perhaps when the poor boy had run into the circle screaming for his older brother. The complete and utter defeat, the pure terror in his voice, had shocked Mark into action. He had already lost a brother, could still feel the mind-numbing grief when he first saw John's dead body on the hospital floor. He couldn't imagine such a young child going through that same heartache. 

So he had jumped into the ring, shoving the terrified boy out of the way, just as a knife came hurtling towards Mark's torso. 

The general had barely dodged the weapon, the blade slicing into his side. His face scrunched up as stinging pain began to burn into his skin and the crowd descended into insanity. Still, Mark lunged towards the wrestling pair, still no one else came to help.

The pink haired competitor had managed to slip out of the taller man's grip amongst the chaos, and now was on both hands and knees, so the man changed targets. His dangerous eyes honed in on the General. 

Mark wasn't fazed in the slightest by his height, by the speed at which he charged. He had been trained for almost a decade at the top university in the Republic, he had sparred men even bigger than the hulking beast before him.   


He simply took a deep breath, narrowed his eyes. Anger drove him, ached in his veins. It took little to no efforts on his part to wait until the last moment, until the other could not slow down his running due to the accumulated momentum, for Mark to slip between meaty thighs, hook his foot around his ankle and _yank_ to send the walking oak three to the ground. 

And when the man roared out in anger, when the brutal crowd cheered, eyes shining bright with cruelty, Mark dug his knee between his shoulder-blades, twisting his hand back and taking it into one of his own. 

"This is for trying to murder a brother."  
  


And then General Mark Lee shattered every bone the man's arm with a single shift. 

.:*:. 

"So we lost all the money?" Donghyuck growled, despite his throbbing arm. He had just come back from seeing Chenle, who had been in a nearby abandoned boutique. His condition had significantly deteriorated, and they had run out of suppressants. Jeno stayed there still, offering to watch him until he returned. But Donghyuck had no more _time_ left. "Not a single bet, not a single sponsor?" 

"How can you complain when you almost lost your life?" Renjun shouted. The criminal absently wondered how someone could look so petrifying while wiping down a countertop. The pub had been closed early for the night due to the fiasco, with every single Note paid to Lucas as compensation. Even the owners of _JJR's_ would be going hungry that night. 

"Yeah!" Jisung exclaimed from where he was tentatively attending to the black-haired stranger beside the billiards table. He was young, with high cheekbones and careful eyes. (Donghyuck had purposely decided to ignore Jaemin's _nudge_ _nudge_ and _wink_ _wink_ before he had left to check up on Chenle). The person had receiveda relatively deep cut into his side. Nothing life-threatening, but enough for Donghyuck to feel bad. Just a little bit. The _slightest_ bit. "Especially when the hyung here saved you!" 

" _Hyung_?" both Donghyuck and the stranger demanded, stilling to stare at each other, then the younger in bewilderment. 

"Well, you _refuse_ to tell me your name," he grumbled, adding the final touches to the stranger's bandages. "And no _offence_ , but you look old. _Also_ , you saved my brother's life. So I'm calling you hyung." 

" _I'm_ your hyung," Donghyuck muttered bitterly, trying not to grumble at the light chuckle that slipped out of the stranger's mouth, stomping towards _JJR'_ s expensive cooler to search for a drink. 

"Nuh-uh, no way," Renjun snapped, chucking a soaking dish sponge which landed squarely on the criminal's face. "You're not touching anything. You deserve every single bruise and ache, you little bitch." 

He groaned, wiping away at the suds on his face and dramatically throwing himself onto the bar. "I'm in _pain_."

"Good." 

Truly, Donghyuck's body felt like it weighed more than a thousand pounds. His head was about half a second from rolling off of his shoulders, bruises littered his legs, and his mouth hurt too much to eat, so his stomach growled too. He was broke, hungry and had almost died. Today was _not_ his day. 

"Mark." 

Donghyuck's head shot up, chin tilting as he looked at the stranger quizzically. "Gesundheit?" 

"I think it's his name," Renjun whispered comically.

"Yeah, alright, thanks fuckass. Never would have guessed it." 

"No swearing in front of a minor!" Jisung announced, packing up his little box of medical supplies. 

The stranger laughed again, this time a little airy giggle that did not belong to the _machine_ that had been in the ring just an hour prior. 

"Well, Mark," Renjun said, ducking under the counter momentarily to retrieve something. "Thank you for saving my idiot of a friend." 

He tossed a packet of biscuits over Donghyuck’s head, which Mark swiped from the air with ease.

“You guys actual brothers?” Mark asked instead, looking shamelessly between the bright strawberry tops on Jisung and Donghyuck’s heads.

The criminal couldn’t help but feel self-conscious as he hauled himself upright, sitting on the counter, much to Renjun’s protest. “What’s it to you?” he demanded, flattening down the rebel strands. 

“Yikes, hyung, you’re _harsh_ ,” Jisung frowned at him, before turning to Mark with a grin the size of a JumboTron. “Yeah, I’m Jisung, that’s my brother Hyuck. And the one over there? That’s Renjun. He’s _like_ a brother.” 

“Hey, pipsqueak! Stranger danger, hello?” Even still, Donghyuck couldn’t help the flutter of warmth that sparked in his heart as Jisung spoke of him with such pride, chest puffed out in adoration. 

An array of emotions flickered across Mark’s face; a symphony of agony, endearment and . . . longing, perhaps? 

The tanned boy felt his aggressive posture soften fractionally against his will. 

“You got any place to go for the night, cousin? Or are you like us folk?” Donghyuck asked with a reluctant sigh.

Mark only shook his head, dusty black hair falling into his almond-shaped eyes. 

He chewed on his lip, contemplating his next move. Chenle needed money - _soon._ An extra mouth to feed would make things difficult. Especially if they were to get moving for Ruby Sector’s tournament. But Mark . . . Mark could be an asset. He clearly knew how to fight, and he didn’t look like he’d be much trouble.

Not yet, at least. 

Donghyuck’s gaze met with Jisung’s, the overgrown bastard giving him pleading puppy eyes. “Hyung, can we _please_ keep him?” 

It was Mark’s answering laugh, the same melodic chuckle, that made him roll his eyes and cave. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m sorry for the delay, but i rly did start to lose motivation for this fic and it rly shows in this chapter ): please do let me know if you enjoy it bc it does help. thanks to you all ♥️


	5. you know the miserable do love company (what do you want from me and my scars?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there are some very vague mentions of prostitution in the next chapter so if that kind of stuff is triggering i recommend skimming it (i promise it's not descriptive at all) or skipping the chapter altogether

Donghyuck wasn't an idiot, and he knew that the Mark dude wasn't one either. They would only be entertaining each other for a few days at most, until Mark had recovered and they could go their separate ways, never having to see each other again. The newbie got free shelter and food while he recovered, and Donghyuck got an extra pair of eyes watching his back (and perhaps robbing him blind in his sleep). 

He couldn't comprehend why Mark had jumped in to rescue Jisung, why he had saved two lives that day. (Donghyuck really tried to ignore his heart whispering that if he had been in Mark's position, he would have done the very same). 

He slipped out of _JJR's_ for a few minutes as the sun began to set, leaving Jisung chatting Mark's ear off while Renjun washed the last of the dishes. Mark, to his credit, indulged in Jisung's outrageous stories.

Guilt tickled Donghyuck's gut as he made his way down to a nearby bakery. His baby brother had been lonely ever since Chenle had gotten sick, the friend that was once joined at his hip now bed-ridden. 

And Chenle . . . Donghyuck was running out of options. If he risked Ruby's Skiz tournament, then perhaps it would be too late for plague cures. 

Standard plague treatment required three vials dosed over three days. And the winnings of a Skiz fight . . . well they would barely cost the cover of half a vial. 

Nausea seared the insides of his empty stomach, sending his head spinning as he knocked on the back door of the _Red Velvet_ bakery. 

He forced a blinding grin to his face as a bright-eyed girl opened the door. Only a year older than Donghyuck, Yeri was a pretty, round-faced baker with her dark brown hair always in two careful braids. 

“Evening, noona,” he greeted, flashing her his best smile. “Gorgeous as always.” He watched her cheeks flush a delicate shade of pink as she smoothed down her apron, beckoning him to come inside.

_Red_ _Velvet_ was a quaint little bakery with mismatched lace and pieces of china decorating the pastel yellow and pink place. Objectively, it was a pathetic attempt at class. In Lake sector? It was one of the most high-end places one would ever eat. (Appearances aside, Joy made incredible lemon meringue that melted on his tongue, tasting of molten gold).

“How did the tournament go?” she asked breathlessly, eyes drinking Donghyuck in. They slowly danced over the cut on his cheekbone, the bruise at the corner of his mouth, at the bandage around his arm. Then, they shamelessly lingered on his biceps and exposed collarbones, face going red once more. 

He felt bad for taking advantage of such an innocent crush on him, but their . . . _relationship_ was transactional. Though he adored Yeri as a friend, Donghyuck would come to help around, offer a kiss or two, then take home the day's stale leftovers. She knew that Donghyuck didn't return her feelings, but she got to fulfil her secret, forbidden love affair whenever Seulgi would come to kick him out. Fantasies and naivety had their consequences, but none of them were on him. 

“Great until Lucas broke out a knife,” he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe into the kitchen. "How did you know I was competing? Did you come to see me, noona?" he teased. 

She flushed once more, now practically shoving a broom in his hands. "I-I was just . . Just wandering about! On my break!" she stammered, turning her face away, ducking her head to hide her school girl infatuation. 

Donghyuck chuckled, seizing her wrist and tugging her towards him like they did in those goddy Republican moving pictures. "I hope you cheered for me, noona," he murmured, unable to suppress his grin when she squeaked in alarm at their proximity. He enjoyed this too much to ever be allowed through the gates of heaven. 

"L-louder than anyone," she promised from her position a full head shorter than him, eyes dropping from their fixed gaze on Donghyuck to his lips. Trembling fingers touched the corner of his mouth, tracing the bruise with as much delicacy, _affection_ , as when she iced her cakes. He could hear the way her breath hitched. 

He turned his head ever so slightly to catch her fleeting touch, pressing a feather-light kiss to her fingertips. (Yeri wasn't the only one living in a fantasy. Donghyuck had forgotten what it was like to meet other people, to make friends, to develop crushes, to trade loving gestures and hugs, to play sports games and practical jokes. In all of his years on the street, he had forgotten what it had been like to live, starved entirely). 

"Let's get to work before Seulgi noona murders me, yeah?"

.:*:. 

He oft worked shirtless to please Yeri, and tonight was no exception. (He really didn't know what she looked at ; he wasn't well-built like Jeno. Sure, he was slenderly toned, but it was because he was a starving thief that ran from soldiers). Uncomplainingly, he stripped what was left of his dirty white top, handing it to the baker who washed it in the kitchen sink while he cleaned. He could feel her eyes burning into him as he scrubbed the floor, dusted the top shelves she couldn't reach, and removed cobwebs in the store room. 

Within twenty minutes, he was done, a light sheen of sweat coating his bruised, honey skin. The effort was simple, but his aching injuries had felt like hundreds of fire-irons had torn clean through his muscles. Still, he let Yeri pull him into the supply cupboard and kiss him until she was dizzy, returning as much as she gave. 

And when it was time to leave, he had been rewarded with a pile of stale sandwiches and a single, freshly made blueberry muffin. 

"I meant to drop it by earlier for good luck," she had admitted, but by then Donghyuck had gone pale with realisation, cold sweat beading his hairline and sending goosebumps over his exposed skin.

He knew what he had to do to pay for plague cures. 

.:*:.

Mark had excused himself into the bathroom that the grumpy dwarf - Renjun - had pointed out for him to give Jaehyun a status report.

He almost felt bad for the forlorn look Jisung had given him, as if leaving for a few minutes was a personal tragedy. He liked the kid, he really did. Mark had always been the youngest between Yoonoh and John, always been the one babied. Already, he could feel himself growing affectionate for the mini doctor, who spoke with both hands and a variety of expressions.

But the other two? He couldn't get much of a read on. Not that he was surprised. Renjun was clearly a Colonies refugee, with the accent and distrust that he looked at Mark with. There was no way that he was affiliated with Haechan, who had shown no prior connections to the rival country.

It was the Hyuck guy who kept disappearing before Mark could figure him out.

Clearly he was close to his brother Jisung - hence the reason for him running into a death trap - so why did he continually leave him to go somewhere else?

Mark made a mental note of the fact that he trusted Renjun enough to leave his family behind, and of the fact that he had something more important to attend to than his traumatised brother. Anyway, Hyuck clearly needed the money for something - why else would he be competing?

Could he have really located Haechan within the first week of searching? The odds felt impossible, so he decided to keep it from Jaehyun when he called, letting the tap run as loud as he could.

The mic hidden inside his cheek clicked on, and immediately a frustrated Jaehyun lost his temper. 

_"Mark! Don't you ever go ghost on me like that again, you hear me? Is everything okay? I thought we agreed to stay in touch every five hours! What the hell was that?"_

"Sorry, hyung," he whispered, looking nervously towards the flimsy wooden door. "Listen I got injured today, no biggie, yeah? But I found a couple people to stay with, so I'll be fine but I gotta lie low, alright? Bye, hyung-!"

And he clicked his mic off before Jaehyun could resume his scolding, snapping the tap off and making his way back to the main bar, ignoring the way that Renjun watched his every movement with narrowed eyes. 

Moments later, Hyuck walked through the door with a plate of food. With flushed skin. And newly messed up hair. Mark felt his ears burn red with embarrassment. Oh dear Republic, the boy was _shirtless_ -

"Your lips are swollen," was the only comment Renjun made as he walked around the counter. The judgemental tone of his voice made Mark wonder if the pair had argued about _whatever_ had just happened before. 

"Uh-oh, hyung, do you have an infection developing?" Jisung asked, shooting up from his seat, mousy eyes wide with concern. Mark had to cover his mouth with his hand to avoid laughing at the sheer _innocence_. 

The teenager shook his head dismissively at his brother, instead striding towards him and setting the heap of sandwiches in front of him. "Renjun’s just being a dick. Here, champ, I brought dinner." 

The way that Hyuck handed the sandwiches to Jisung before ruffling his hair made the fragments of his heart ache ; the full weight of John's absence hit him with the force of a tidal wave, crushing the air out of his lungs. Mark would never have his brother by his side again, would never feel one of his bone-grinding hugs or hear his full belly laughter.

_Johnny was gone._

"Stop your sad staring, newbie, and get your ass here to eat. I'll put a shirt on if human skin scandalises you so much," Hyuck called, waving Mark over, temporarily breaking him out of his misery. 

Mark sat himself down near Jisung, gravitating towards the kid. Though he did his best to avert his eyes, when he reached for a sandwich, his fingers lightly brushed the warm skin of Hyuck’s hip-bone.

”O-Oh my god!” Mark exclaimed, snapping his hand back like it had been electrocuted.

He didn’t know how to act in such an . . . _unsophisticated_ environment. People didn’t just walk around half-naked at NEO, nor did they flaunt their . . . _romantic affairs_. 

Hyuck only gave him a weirded out look, finely sloped nose scrunching slightly. “You good, virgin?” 

He felt like his ears had been set alight as he grabbed a sandwich, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the wooden table. “Sorry, Hyuck.”

“It’s _Dong-_ hyuck,” he corrected impatiently, grabbing two sandwiches and making his way to Renjun, a little further away from Mark and Jisung.

Then, to his complete and utter shock, they began conversing in another language as they ate.

How simply these people lived without law, committing seemingly minor crimes that could have them executed.

“What’re they doing?” Mark whispered, taking a bite out of the sandwich. He tried not to gag, to let the stale pieces of bread and lettuce tear at his throat. He needed to force it down. It was the first time he had eaten since the day before, and would probably have to wait another day to eat again.

“Speaking in Mandarin. Y’know, like they do in the Colonies,” Jisung whispered back conspiratorally. 

“Are you all illegal immigrants?” he asked, immediately wincing with regret when Donghyuck shot him a dirty look, clearly having heard. 

Jisung seemed to take no offence, both cheeks completely full with food, speech muffled. “Nah, just Renjun-ge. That’s ‘hyung’ in Mandarin, by the way. But he taught my hyung, who’s really, _really_ smart and learned it super fast.” 

Once again, Mark’s heart panged with loss. He remembered speaking about Johnny like that to whoever would listen, to share with the world the stories of the hero just by his side.

Mark gave Jisung a sad smile. “You talk about your big brother like I do about mine.” 

“ _Woah_ , you have a _brother_?” he exclaimed. “Can he do cool punches like you?”

Mark chuckled, wiping the breadcrumbs from his hands on his cargo pants. “My hyung was way better than me. He was super great at fighting, but also cooking. And sports. He really liked playing football.” 

Memories of John flooded his mind, images of him dancing in the space before his glassy eyes. 

Though he was lost in his reverie, his trained eyes didn’t miss the way Donghyuck had frozen, carefully listening in to his conversation. Jisung hadn’t picked up the past tense; Donghyuck had. 

Young, athletic and skilled enough to make it to the finals of a Skiz tournament, desperate for money, smart enough to learn and speak another language whilst simultaneously listening in on another. 

A certain Mister Donghyuck had found his way onto a little list in Mark’s heart labelled with _Haechan_ in blood. 

.:*:. 

“ _Hyuck, I don’t like this_ ,” Renjun muttered in Mandarin, eyes darting nervously around the bar, resting on Jisung for a single second. He had put his stale sandwich down at his friend’s request, all appetite seemingly disappearing. 

“ _What other choice to do I have? My brother is days away from the grave_ ,” he pleaded in return, eyes bright with unshed tears. Donghyuck was finally truly appreciative of Mark’s presence, his strange giggle distracting Jisung from the desperation written onto his face. 

Renjun sighed, running his free hand through his hair. Conflicted emotions warred for domination on his finely angled face, accentuated by his signature make-up.

“ _I didn’t want to tell you this_ ,” he began slowly, his voice barely a low murmur. “ _But one of my clients was watching you today. Asking about you. She’s gentle and her prices are always generous. . . I can write to her tonight, barter a little bit more. . ._ ”

Relief washed over Donghyuck’s face, almost sagging his aching muscles. “ _Please, Renjun_.” 

His voice was saturated with defeat, lashes coated heavily with tears. But he did not let the droplets fall.

The full sun did not lose his shine, after all.

Renjun scowled, not bothering to hide his disgust. “ _I do not want to sell my friends like cattle_.” 

“ _But you’ll be saving my brother’s life_.” 

He couldn’t argue anymore. The herbalist nodded mutely, turning his body to fully face the stranger and the lanky child. “ _I’ll make it as easy as possible, then_.”

.:*:.

Late night had fallen, Jaemin and Jeno returning from their post at Chenle’s bedside. The platinum-haired pair passed awkward greetings with Mark, unsure of what to make of the shy stranger who had broken the arm of a man double his height. 

Donghyuck - now wearing one of Jeno's dark blue shirts - and Jisung embraced their friends, clapping them on the backs and pulling them into hugs whilst Mark hesitatingly lingered at JJR's door. The sight must've looked strange, he would admit, but when one lived their lives on filthy, disease-ridden streets crawling with violence, waking up in the morning was a gift in itself.

"He's even cuter up close," Jaemin had whispered in Donghyuck's ear, earning a sharp pinch to the side that had him curling up and letting out a high-pitched shriek. 

Donghyuck _knew_ that Mark was cute.

As the trio walked in the dusty streets under the cover of darkness pierced with flickering street lamps, his eyes constantly flickered over to the outline of the stranger. He was only slightly taller than Donghyuck, with black hair that fell into his eyes like tufts of feathers and aristocratic features. His black t-shirt was fitted, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. From the neck down, Mark was generously sculpted. But as soon as his eyes lit up with Jisung's animated stories, as soon as his cartoonish laughter glittered through the night air, the harshness of his body was overpowered by the way his entire face seemed to scrunch with laughter. 

That didn't mean Donghyuck _liked_ Mark.

Something about him rubbed the criminal strange. He was _toned_ for a street rat, not slender like him or bony like Jisung ; and his slang often sounded awkward, like he forced it out. 

The only storyline that Donghyuck could think of was that Mark was let go from whatever rich high-school that he went to, but still couldn't find a minimum-wage job like street sweepers in Washington Sector. But what could he have done for the Republic to let go of a clearly skilled fighter? 

He could sense Mark's distrust in him too, especially when they entered the abandoned boutique. The place reeked of dust and mothballs, the stranger hesitating to enter. 

"It's either a roof over your head or the streets, newbie," Donghyuck shrugged, pushing Jisung forward. Mark only sighed and followed suit. 

The store was eerie, with frayed fabrics splayed over the headless mannequins that had been left behind. As they walked further into the space, their footsteps kicked up enough dust for Donghyuck to launch into a coughing fit. 

"Is this place even inhabitable?" Mark grumbled, burying his mouth and nose into his elbow.

Irritation grated inside Donghyuck. _Clearly_ the stranger hadn't been homeless for long. He spun to face Mark with narrowed eyes, lip curled in annoyance. "I _said_ it's either a roof over your head or the streets. I'm willing to keep your sorry ass alive for the next few days until your injuries clear up, but I will _not_ have some goddy rich-sector bastard complain about _dust_." 

Mark opened his mouth, seemingly to argue. Donghyuck didn't miss the way he bristled, rearing up to fight back. A certain inexplicable hatred crossed Mark's face, jaw set and gaze hard. 

But he didn't say anything, only averted his eyes.

"Hyung, he's asthmatic," Jisung leaned down to murmur in his ear, barely audible. "He has his medication, but . ." 

Indeed, as Mark walked to a nearby window, fiddling with the latches, Donghyuck could hear the sandy, laboured breaths. Regret poisoned his veins, replacing irritation in a heartbeat.

He had just treated something that could kill Mark in his sleep as the whims of a spoiled child. 

"There's a room upstairs with an open window that I cleaned out," he called, refusing to look at Mark. After moving from the warehouse to the boutique, he had borrowed a broom and special disinfectants from Yeri to render the room spotless for Chenle.

Donghyuck hadn't wanted Mark to find out about Chenle, about his biggest fear and vulnerability. But what other choice did he have? He was constantly being pushed into dark corners, aggressively shoved into suffocation, with no way out besides the least damaging option. 

He lead the two up the rickety staircase that creaked under the soles of their worn sneakers, a nervous insecurity making his mouth go dry. 

The first storey was infinitely cleaner than the main shop downstairs, a double window open wide to let the summer breeze dance through the dimly lit area. Mark closed the sliding door behind him, to keep the dust out Donghyuck assumed, but didn't say a single word. Even so, gratitude shone in his eyes clear as day. 

How easily the two seemed to go from butting heads to begrudging neutrality. 

He pushed Mark from his mind, instead striding over to the makeshift bed with the soft blueberry muffin from Yeri in hand. 

A few wooden trunks had been arranged to accomodate the full length of Chenle's body, bundles of old fabric used as a sorry excuse of a mattress, and a bright orange shock-blanket from Jisung's First Aid kit that blended into the violent colour of his brother's hair. 

"Hyung?" his weak voice asked, snapping the deadly silence in half. Chenle pushed himself up, the effort making his atrophying muscles tremble. His blood-filled irises searched the darkness frantically, stricken with fear. "Hyung, is that you?" 

Donghyuck heard Mark's sharp intake of breath from behind. 

"Hey, carrot-top," he responded, crouching in front of him, wincing at how his voice wavered. His knee dug into something sharp in the ground, perhaps a spare needle. But he paid it no heed, setting the muffin beside his brother and pulling the boy into a hug.

He ignored Jisung's halted warning ; he figured that if he hadn't been infected by Chenle these past few months, then there was little chance of him contracting the plague from him now. Donghyuck only wanted to offer his brother some semblance of comfort. 

Chenle wrapped his arms around him as tight as his weak body could muster, and it dawned on Donghyuck how cruel it had been for him to have denied the boy affection for fear of affliction, how terrible he had been these past few days to leave him for hours on end in oblivion as he slipped in and out of consciousness, his world dark. 

"I brought you a special something, Lele," he said, pulling away. He squeezed his brother's hands, tiny with little flesh, in his own. Tears burned in the back of his throat, remorse the size of the universe weighing down on his shoulders and crushing the air from his lungs. "A blueberry muffin, it's your favourite, right?" 

When Chenle nodded ecstatically, clumped orange hair flying with enthusiasm. A sad - borderline hysterical - chuckle bubbled out of Donghyuck. "And I bet you're really tired of being cooped up inside, yeah? Come on, let's go somewhere for a little bit." 

He shifted, turning around and urging his brother to hop onto his back. Chenle was monstrous before he had gotten sick, only half a head shorter than Donghyuck. Now, as he helped him wrap his arms around his neck in a piggy-back, blanket securing him in place, he realised how much smaller he had gotten from his illness, how much weight he had truly lost. 

To his relief, Jisung and Mark were sitting in the corner furthest away. Mark was patiently listening to his brother excitedly describe the medical tools in his First Aid kit, information he likely already knew. His eyes met Donghyuck's for only a second, and once again, he felt an appreciation for the stranger stir in his chest for keeping the youngest distracted. 

" _Thank you_ ," Donghyuck mouthed, one foot resting on the window ledge.

Mark only nodded, expression unreadable. 

Bottom lip caught between his teeth, the criminal swung out of out of the huge floor-length window with ease. He was conscious of Chenle's alarmed cry, his bony limbs wrapping around him even tighter. 

"You gotta hold on to your muffin and me, champ. We're heading onto the roof. Reckon that'll be okay?" 

His brother had buried his face into Donghyuck's neck, the poor thing trembling with terror, but still let out a sound of affirmation. Once more, he was struck by his own cruelty, forcing his younger brother to trust him when he could no longer see his face. 

He couldn't stop the way his chin trembled as he used the nearby pipe to launch himself upwards, fingers catching the railing of the outdoor staircase. 

  
Within moments they had made it onto the roof, Donghyuck tucking his brother into his side and wrapping both their shoulders with the orange blanket. 

The evening was stunning, even in the slums. Stars lay in clusters, as if they had been generously tossed onto the dark blanket overhead. The moonlight bathing the buildings in soft light, the notes of a faraway bass tumbling through the sky ; all of it felt like a whisper of life. 

Only, Chenle couldn't see that life. Donghyuck watched with a fracturing heart how the summer breeze swept at his faces, kissing his cheeks and caressing his skin, making him tilt his head back to properly seize the remainder of Nature's gifts he had been offered. 

"I missed being outside, hyung," he whispered, eyes staring into nothing. 

"I know." He couldn't offer his younger brother anything more than a squeeze and a blueberry muffin. He had no more words of comfort, not even a single flicker of hope. All he could do was tell him stories of his day, hear his shrieking, high-pitched laughter as he recounted his adventures with his three friends. 

Soon their talk died down, the blueberry muffin long-devoured, crumbs on the younger's chin. 

"I miss music the most, hyung. More than anything," he whispered, fingers twitching, as if desperate to dance over ivory piano keys. 

He pressed his lips together in concentration, listening carefully. Donghyuck was sure that Jisung and Mark were no longer awake; he couldn't hear their chatter from the open window below, only Jisung's tell-tale snores. 

So he held onto his brother, laying him down beside him. Though he was only a year younger than Donghyuck, his slender, frail frame slotted perfectly into his arms. He stroked his brother's course hair and then opened his mouth to sing. 

The notes came out soft, tentative, unlike the power vocals he often belted out when performing with Jeno and Jaemin. The melody danced in glittering notes with the starlight, and he felt Chenle's muscles relax infinitely. 

It was their mother's lullaby. 

" _Lift your head up, look at the sky. Spread those beautiful wings that are sleeping on your shoulders._ " 

Chenle's breathing slowed, the air fighting to travel in and out of his lungs.

Donghyuck's voice broke, fear tearing his words, interspaced with the gasps of surpressed tears. When Chenle's breath was restored with easy, rhythmic snores, he forced himself to continue. 

" _Bravo, my life, for the courage that kept your heart going_." 

.:*:.

As he lay on the linoleum floor, Mark's head was spinning with such a ferocious intensity that it struck him dumb with dizziness. 

This was who he had thought to be Haechan? A terrified boy fighting the full force of the Republic for his two brothers?

Confirmation bias told him that things added up ; that a smart, athletic teenager who was looking for plague cures ticked all of the criteria.

Logic told him that anyone subject to the harsh life of the streets would tick the same criteria. Over the course of years, anyone would have developed the cleverness to survive, the agility to outrun soldiers, would want to help someone that was ill. 

His heart told him that someone who spoke so gently, who recklessly threw himself in harm's way for someone he loved, who allowed a stranger into the same space as a vulnerable child, couldn't possibly be a murderer. 

Then, shocking him for perhaps the thousandth time that day, Mark heard Donghyuck's singing filter into the room. Adoration melded with desperation and grief in his voice, the warmth enveloping even Mark's heart.

The love of a brother. 

Again, he was reminded of the gaping absence in his life, over six feet tall with the smile of a giant toy bear. He had to clamp his hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his sobs, his entire body trembling with the effort of his tears.

He cried listening to the nightingale, wishing that John was simply at their apartment and that the river of his tears would be great enough to take him home. 

.:*:.

Morning came with chaos. It came with both Jisung and Chenle bothering Donghyuck until he was awake, poking at his cheeks and pulling his hair. 

His muscles ached even worse than from the prior's day competition, stiff from falling asleep on the slanted, metal roof. 

"Hyung! Mark hyung brought food!" Jisung shouted. Directly into his fucking ear. 

Donghyuck hissed, shooting upright. He hit his youngest brother upside the head as soon as his swollen eyes were able to open, fighting against the sunlight. 

"Don't scare me like that," he whined, doubling over into himself, leaning his forehead against his knees. 

His brothers laughed, mad with mischief. It was a sight that hadn't been seen in weeks - perhaps it was the sun, the first lights of day filling them with hope. Still, he didn't dampen their spirits, carrying Chenle back into the building. Seeing that his brother had made it through another night reignited the determination inside the vigilante, burning with the light of a supernova. 

And the way that supernova faltered when it met Mark's eyes. Republic knew what he was going to do with him. An enigma, truly in every sense of the word. His incomprehensibility was enamouring, almost, a brilliant maze of innocence and strategy.

Out of heart or ulterior motive, the shy boy awkwardly gestured to the small picnic spread on the ground as the brothers entered.

Food.

It was steaming food. Warm bread, seemingly soft as a cloud, surrounded by eggs and _fruit_. Real fruit. It was nothing short of a small fortune. His mouth watered in response, heart fluttering. 

"Mark," Donghyuck murmured, lips parting in surprise, eyes racing from the feast back to the stranger. What the goddy, ever-loving fuck _was_ he? 

"I - Uh . . . I ran into . . an old friend," he stammered, not meeting his eyes. "You know . . Rich sector kids. He offered breakfast."

Jisung sat giddily on the ground, patting the spaces on either side fervently for Mark and Donghyuck. "C'mon," he begged. " _Before_ it gets cold. Within the next century, at _least_." 

Dumbfounded, Donghyuck grasped Chenle's hand and guided him to the floor.

"I still don't like you, newbie," he muttered, hesitatingly reaching for a strawberry. He examined it carefully, for show of course, before handing it to Chenle.

He _didn't_ like Mark still. Sure, he was a _little_ bit dumb and a _little_ _more_ kind, but he was still a _stranger_. Someone he had to tolerate until his debt was paid. 

"I'm not trying to get you to like me," Mark shot back, dappled sunlight making patterns on his skin. "I'm trying to stop you from attacking me in my sleep."

"Was that - was that a _joke_ from you, cousin?" Donghyuck gasped, mimicking the rich sector accent with a hand on his chest in mock surprise. "Chenle, hold me. I feel quite faint."

Mark tossed a package of crackers at his head. 

.:*:. 

Their dynamic was strange, constantly shifting from aggressive distrust to a pleasant banter. Ever since they had met the day before, Donghyuck and Mark hadn't had more than a moment together. Not that Donghyuck was complaining. He didn't need a new addition to his already massive group, didn't need his loyalty split in another way. He already cared too much for too many, his heart spread thin. 

Today, Chenle felt well enough for Jaemin and Jeno to take him out with Jisung. It left Mark in the bar with Renjun and him, the three of them cleaning meticulously before the pub opened at two in the afternoon. 

He didn't interject, didn't try to fit into their hushed conversation in Mandarin. Donghyuck knew that some things never quite changed, that segments of one's past were difficult to disguise. It applied to Mark too, who seemed just as stiff the day before, his guilt plain as he was caught in the middle of a technically treacherous deed. The Colonies were the enemy, and the rich knew to stay away from everything across the Yalu River. 

" _My client is happy to have you this afternoon,_ " Renjun finally said, giving him the scrap of information he had been so desperately waiting for. " _I forgot that virgin prices fetch higher_."

Donghyuck nodded, fighting the blush that rose to his cheeks. " _Can you help me?_ " he asked, a sliver of nervousness trickling into his voice. " _Teach me what to do, and how to make it . . Hurt less?_ "

Renjun visibly flinched. " _She'll be careful with you_ ," he promised, voice thick with remorse. " _But I'll tell you exactly what to do. It's time to get ready anyway_." 

They walked through the hidden door, located behind the storeroom, often locked because it lead into the chamber where Jeno, Jaemin and Renjun actually lived.

They left Mark alone, who didn't make a single noise of complaint, knowing that he wouldn't steal any cash or food as he continued to wipe down the benches.

Like a good soldier. Following orders exactly. 

The thought made Donghyuck shudder. He could see years of military training in Mark, in the way his concentration was razor-sharp and movements controlled, disciplined. Even when just setting up tables.

Once more he was left wondering what he could have done to warrant such a severe expulsion. Before he could open his mouth to ask Renjun, the courtesan had already shoved him fully clothed into an ice-cold bath. 

Donghyuck screamed out a string of profanities, an incomprehensible jumble of Mandarin, English and Korean that had Renjun laughing manically. 

" _Clean up, Hyuck_ ," he announced, his accent jumping out more than usual as he held up an assortment of beauty products. " _Your journey to the whore life begins here._ "

.:*:.

It had taken no less than two hours for Renjun to scrub Donghyuck clean, to remove layers and layers of grime from his honey skin.

Now he was smooth, freshly plucked and ripe for picking. Expensive, lavish oils smelling of lavender and roses were massaged into his skin, his hair soft to the touch and his nails buffed, filed down to perfection.

Renjun had sat him in front of a cracked vanity, delicately styling his hair in a way that pushed it up from his forehead with a heart-shaped curl. He worked with the same precision he did when dealing with his herbs; with a creased brow and focused pout. 

His fingers were careful as they painted over the bruise near his mouth, artistic as they lined his eyes with dark powder and swiped shimmer onto his cheekbones. The tenderness, _intimacy,_ of the moment, was ruined by the instructions Renjun gave. Every touch, sound, muscle movement had to be coordinated. It was a long process, and no part of it was enjoyable. 

When Donghyuck's knee had started bouncing with anxiety, fingertips tapping against the wood of the vanity table, Renjun had forced him to take a breath from an opium pipe. " _Tension will make it worse_." 

The final additions had been an oversized, button-up silk shirt opened to expose the majority of his chest - the most expensive thing Renjun had to wear. He replaced the stud in Donghyuck's ear with a slightly longer, dangling chain and dabbed a hint of dark pink tint to the centre of his lips. 

"If I had known you could look _this_ good, Hyuck, I would have sold you sooner," Renjun gushed, trying to force out a joke as he stepped back to admire the masterpiece of his own making. (He couldn't hide the tremor in his voice, the regret in having to treat his friend like meat).

Donghyuck rolled his eyes at his friend, nervousness dulled down to an incomprehensible murmur at the base of his skull. The reflection in the mirror was a different person entirely. Someone _confident_ , secure in his sexuality. Someone who didn't have to scavenge for food or steal for a living. 

He was a renaissance picture of the perfect pairing of masculinity and femininity. His cheekbones were still strong, his brow still prominent and jaw immaculately sharp. And yet. . . yet there was a subtly to his smoked out, glittery eyes and pink mouth that spoke of delicacy, of the wanton desires of the human heart that only he was privy to.

He felt goddy amazing. 

"It's showtime," he grinned, transforming entirely into his new facade. (Owed entirely to the poppy, he assumed). He offered Renjun his arm before they walked back into the main bar, only minutes away from opening.

Despite how much he disliked Mark, how much his neck prickled with the feeling of being studied whenever he was nearby, this time was different. Now, he couldn't help but feel _powerful_ in the way his eyes lingered, trailing after him in wonderment. The ex-soldier tried to be subtle in his staring, clamping his jaw shut as fast as it had dropped open.

If this was a stranger's reaction to him, how would the client herself fare? 

He felt halfway between Lee Donghyuck and Haechan. Still mischievous and playful, but now with a dangerous edge. A smile cut from secrets, jewelled eyes shaped from promises of unknown thrills. 

He nodded his goodbye to his best friend, slipping out of the back door to make his way to a car waiting for him. Republic help him not completely fuck this gig up, because the bloody client was rich enough for an _actual_ _car_. A cacophony of excitement and trepidation filled him to the brim, making even the tips of his fingers tingle. 

Soon, he was silently lead into an expensive-looking apartment. Solid gold chandeliers hung from the ceilings, hideous paintings lining the walls, velvet armchairs littered around as if a furniture factory had thrown up in the place.

How strange the rich were, drowning in their bathtubs of diamonds whilst the rest of the Republic were reduced to eating the scraps even mice left behind.

The mere thought of it made Donghyuck’s anger curl inside, prepared to explode at any given moment.

For once, he wasn’t in Washington Sector to steal. He wasn’t there to make a political statement or to find the details of the next weapons shipment. 

He was there for Chenle. So he buried the war in his chest, holding his chin high when he finally towered above the woman who paid for his soul, sprawled against her satin sheets.

She was a picturesque American woman in her mid-thirties, looking up at him with greed-infested blue eyes and triumph, like she was the sole owner of some grand prize. Exactly the same way the militants on first invading airships had looked.

When Donghyuck unbuttoned the shirt exactly in the way Renjun had advised, letting the silken fabric slide down his skin, he realised that he was no longer afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe


	6. in the middle of the night when the wolves come out heading straight for your heart like a bullet in the dark

Five hours.

Five hours Donghyuck lay with the magazine-model American woman. Five hours he learned every way to make her purr, felt her hot breath against his neck, memorised every curve of her sweat-soaked porcelain body. 

To her credit, she _had_ been as (mostly) gentle as Renjun had told him she would be. His greatest fear was being torn into, but the woman - Susanna, he learned - had made no move to do anything besides let Donghyuck take control. 

And for that gentleness - the warm meal and hot shower that followed, as well as the fat wad of cash she had tucked into the waistband of his boxers - Donghyuck was eternally grateful for. 

“You’re a special one, gem,” she had whispered into his ear as he left, her teeth momentarily grazing over the sensitive skin of his neck when she lead him to his car. 

“Rich coming from the country’s crown jewel,” he tossed back with an easy grin, hair smelling of her expensive shampoo falling into his eyes. 

Her laugh glittered like shards of stunning broken glass, still with a sinful droplet of red wine hanging from a razor edge. It tore the late afternoon air, breaking the serenity of the summer sun hanging low in the sky. 

It sounded as artificial as her silicone skin had felt in his hands. Still, he bowed down and kissed her knuckle like the perfect gentlemen in Republican films, before descending into the leather cushions of her limousine. 

It was just as extravagant as it had been five hours ago, with the same crushed velvet carpets and mini refrigerators — why had he expected any different? 

(He wasn’t used to good things lasting). 

His muscles ached in process of simply sitting, a sharp sting burning through the bullet wound in his arm. Donghyuck glanced down at his chest, fresh with slightly red marks carelessly tossed onto his skin. Nothing that would bruise, just Susanna’s _reminder_ of her ownership, her possession, over Donghyuck.

He felt dirty, of course. Unbelievably guilty as well as exhausted by the physical feats that his body had managed for hours. But he wouldn’t lie in saying that the heap of cash in his lap made it worthwhile. 

He counted silently, thumbing the Notes made from his virginity with an equal mix of reverence and disgust.

Twenty-five thousand Notes he held. 

A tenth of the bounty on his head. A tenth of the winnings for a lucky soldier that brought his corpse to the Republic’s feet. In his sweaty, lavender-scented hands, he held one tenth of his life. 

The thought made him dizzy, forced him to focus on the remnants of Washington Sector as the car descended into the slum sectors.

He knew that now he had been deflowered, he would fetch barely a thousand Notes per hour, unlike the five thousand from that day. 

Even so, twenty-five thousand meant two plague cures and a suppressor on the Black Market. (He couldn’t risk going to another hospital after his stunt). It meant one more week of Chenle’s life and two out of three steps until his cure.

The thought of it moved him to tears, the droplets now-stained with the touch of an invader fell backwards into himself to form a steely resolve. 

When Donghyuck entered _JJR’s_ from the back. The pub was in full swing, unsurprisingly for a Friday night. Coloured lights, loud music and even louder drunk people coupled with the faint, ever-present scent of opium was exactly the kind of vibe that Donghyuck loved, _thrived_ in. There existed a unity in the carelessness, where bawds and the hopeless and criminals came together to forget themselves and live off only the electricity of their own beating hearts.

But fatigue was lead in his bones, forcing him to sneak into the trio’s bedroom without greeting anyone. Half asleep, he peeled off Renjun’s expensive shirt, leaving the dangling drip-chain earring he had grown fond of in.

He was robotic in his movements as he tugged on his flimsy and torn white shirt that Yeri had washed the day before, saturated with the saccharine scent of cakes. It made his stomach growl. Yet for all the food and noise that the pub offered, Donghyuck unconsciously felt himself collapse on the bed, metal wires groaning with the effort. (He vaguely pushed away the burning mental image of what his three friends had been doing - and how often - to push the piece of furniture to within an inch of its life). 

With the money hugged tightly to his chest, which burned with satisfaction and hatred, for fear it would would disintegrate from sheer lawlessness, Donghyuck fell asleep as if the tiny bedroom was the silent and serene eye of a tornado amidst the hullabaloo a few rooms away. 

.:*:.

Mark suspected Donghyuck had gone to see a lover.

The same person who he had seen the day before when he had returned with a handful of food and swollen lips. But the way he had dressed up for her was strange; he had gone filthy the day before. Was it perhaps a special occasion? Perhaps Mark had the romanticism of an ant, but he genuinely could not understand the logic behind prioritising a lover when his brother was on his deathbed.

He estimated that had known Donghyuck a grand total of perhaps 30 hours, given how low the sun had now sunk. And in that 30 hours, he estimated that his opinion changed about one hundred and twenty seven times. 

Very few things lead the prodigious Mark Lee to dead ends, and at the present moment, there existed only two: Haechan and the streets of Lake.

He had no idea how to navigate the dimly lit, rat-infested streets or the mental rut he was in. He followed the immediate clues, like certain street signs, before ending up in another stinking alley-way. 

Pulling his cap lower over his brows as he passed a camera, Mark laid out the facts in front of himself. Haechan was a teenage boy that had killed his brother. He was ambidextrous. He was looking for plague cures. And Mark had passed the same bullshit _Red_ _Velvet_ bakery _four_ times -

“Cousin, there are times when I swear you have only one functioning braincell.” 

Without conscious thought, his synapses had his muscles coiled in fighting stance in the general direction of the voice, reading to spring.

”Ooh, _fancy,_ rich sector boy.”

That high, obnoxious voice could belong to only one Skiz fighter. 

Donghyuck leapt from _god knows where_ , landing in front of Mark with a sort of insufferably graceful swagger that one could have only mastered from living on the streets.

“W-Where were you hiding?” Mark sputtered, personally offended by the fact that he hadn’t realised that he was being tailed. In fact, it made his stomach clench with unease. Had he lost his edge?

“Well, if I tell you, then it won’t be a good hiding spot anymore, would it?” 

His smile was razor-sharp, almost luminescent in the night. Though his eyes were devoid of the make-up he had been wearing earlier, and he had scrambled back into that tattered white shirt, Mark couldn’t help but hate the way his eyes were bathed in moonshine, glittering with the same intensity as his smile and silver earring.

He was pretty, in the most dangerous way. He wasn’t something quiet and fascinating like Renjun, lovely and affectionate like Jaemin, or brooding and masculine like Jeno. No, Donghyuck was something else entirely. A sweet, tortured soul wrapped in sarcasm, mischief and rebellion. 

All of these were purely objective observations, of course.

”What do you want, Hyuck?” he asked flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

The boy clicked his tongue in annoyance, narrowing his honeyed-eyes at him through the tuft of pink hair that fell between his brows. “ _Dong_ -hyuck.” 

Mark resisted the urge to scrunch his nose in distaste, to tell him he had no intention of respecting the wishes associated with mere nicknames of a criminal. 

"I'm not here for you. Shocking, I know, but you're not my type." 

The General snorted. “And what’s your type? Renjun?” 

Donghyuck shrugged, cocking his head and making a face of contemplation as he started off in a seemingly random direction. “Yeah, not bad. Smart, nice to look at, witty.” 

“And how am I lacking?” he asked, puffing out his chest ever so slightly. There was a defensiveness he couldn't quite explain as he fell into step with the other. Well - he _could_ explain it. Mark wasn't going to lie, he had gone his whole life bathed in praises of molten gold, and the idea of the cool, confident fighter not liking him almost hurt his pride. _Almost_.

Said fighter looked Mark over head to toe, running a critical eye from his raven locks to his army-issued combat boots before stopping below the belt on its way back up. 

“Do you _really_ want me to answer that?" 

It took _one . . two . . three_ seconds for his words to sink in. Mark burst into a coughing fit, face a shade of maroon he prayed the other couldn't see in the midnight air. 

Donghyuck threw his head back in a cackle straight out of Dante's ninth circle of hell, earning a strangled sound tearing out of Mark's throat. 

"What even _are_ you?" he demanded, eyes agape, certain his pupils were dilated as he tried to drink in every single feature of this boy made of sunshine and nighttime, trying to figure out exactly _how_ he ticked. 

"King of the Underground," Donghyuck answered smoothly, hands tucked into his pockets as he tossed a devious grin at Mark. 

And he was _absolutely_ right.

Mark had been utterly mistaken in thinking Donghyuck's confidence and self-importance had been the result of years spent slipping out of the gunshot range of soldiers'. No, it was a well-earned title, a simple truth. An infamous street fighter, a mouthy sea urchin with a clear string of admirers, a playboy with the skills of a mafia don.

Still, Mark remained stubborn. "Yeah, alright, Casanova." 

The pair lapsed into silence, a strange unity of slight awkwardness and comfort, as Donghyuck lead the way to Republic knows where. They twisted and turned through moonlit alleyways marred with dust, garbage and wheezing husks of creatures that might have once been human. 

"What's a Casanova?" Donghyuck asked so quietly that Mark flinched, as if he had been deliberating how much his ego would hurt in asking for the past fifteen minutes. 

Unable to help himself in the awkward, eerie silence, Mark giggled. “He was a smooth talking Italian author with a lot of lovers.”

Mark expected Donghyuck tease him again, to poke fun at the fact that the General thought he was a charming stud. Instead they fell into another silence. This time, it was heavier than the one from before ; it was sad, deafening in its complete quietness. 

Then a heartbeat later: “What’s an Italian, Mark?” 

He well and truly would have laughed, again unable to comprehend how someone as purely _intelligent_ as Donghyuck was so clueless. But he couldn’t, not when he knew that there was _no_ way for the boy to have known anything without an education; not when the great king’s voice had sounded so small in that moment. He had a gap in the most trivial of knowledge, nothing life changing: history and geography that Mark used to complain about having to learn. Yet the mighty prodigy, the General, felt so guilty for having taken every moment for granted while there were people like Donghyuck who had absolutely nothing but two tattered fabrics to his name. 

"Italy is a country, Hyuck," Mark said, a gentleness arising in his voice that he didn't expect. There was no judgement to his voice, no harsh condescending tone that he might have applied a week ago. 

(Johnny wouldn't have needed to spend a week lying in the streets to know that he needed to be kind with people. Johnny never took his life for granted ; he spent every breath fighting against the people who drove such a chasm between the rich and the poor, all whilst Mark had spent his time learning how to assemble and dissemble guns). 

"Italy, huh? Never heard of it. What's it like, richie?" 

Immediately Mark launched into a lengthy explanation of Italy's history, it taking a few more seconds for the fact to settle in his head. 

Donghyuck hadn't corrected his use of the nickname. 

Mark fought to keep his voice from launching into a series of accusations midexplanation, but a single sideways glance had him catching the ghost of a smile, a hint of an upturned lip. Donghyuck knew what he was doing, giving Mark permission to become less than strangers if he wished. 

He couldn't mess up a friendship with someone clearly well known in the underground. Not when Haechan was on the line. 

So he continued his explanation of Italy as they wound through the streets. The heaviness still lingered, but the awkwardness dissolved to an extent. They neared the edge of the lake of . . well, Lake. It was a drying up, stinking mess of sewerage and dead wildlife that had Mark's eyes watering. A stain on the Republic's flourishing landscapes. What the actual _fuck_ were they doing there?

"You - uh.. You really didn't go to school?" Mark finally queried, voice low as if he was ashamed of asking. 

Donghyuck shrugged, genuinely nonchalant as he kicked at a rusted, filthy grate near the waterbed. "It's just the way things are here, Mark. Chenle and I failed our Trials. Jisung is the only one who made it through, halfway through a medical course before he was kicked out when we couldn't afford the school fees. The system is _designed_ to keep us at the bottom." 

The guilt Mark felt was a poison, twisting at his lungs and stopping his air flow.

“We’re supposed to stay at the bottom,” he repeated with his ever-present shit-eating grin. “So _down we go_.”

Donghyuck jumped into the manhole. 

There was a grotesque splash that had Mark wincing, the stench paired with the dizzying fact that Donghyuck had _failed_ his Trials. How long was it going to be before things started making _sense_ to Mark?

"Hyuck, what in the ever-loving _fuck_ are we doing?" he demanded, peering into the pitch-black abyss.

"My _God_ , the elitist _swears_? It’s a _scandal_.” 

"It's just for you," he shot back, face scrunching with disgust as he braced himself, praying to the Father, Son and Holy Spirit before jumping into the sewers of Lake sector. 

When he landed, Mark tried to stop himself, he really did. But he ended up with his hands on softened knees and Donghyuck patting his back with glee rather than sympathy as he murmured insincere ' _there there_ 's whilst Mark vomited his lungs into the pool of human waste, dead rats and Republic knew what else. 

"At least you can't get any dirtier," the other pretended to empathise with Mark, who shot him a murderous look. 

"Why are we here, Hyuck?" he demanded with voice completely burnt from the acid in his stomach, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. 

The criminal only grinned. "Oh, but we've come so far, I can't spoil the surprise just yet." 

.:*:. 

The black market. 

  
They were there for the black market, Mark realised with equal parts awe and horror. 

He wasn't proud to admit it, but he mostly hid his larger frame behind Donghyuck's. The other walked with an easy grace, a lifetime of experience. Though Mark was taller than him, the boy filled the space with the sheer power of his personality and cockiness. 

He walked as if he truly owned the streets of Lake. Every single person with their stalls decorated with their wares nodded to the pink-haired boy, stopped to greet him or offer a checkered grin with missing teeth. 

"The Lake smell stops the blood hounds," Donghyuck said conversationally, lightly, as they manoeuvred through merchants and buyers. "And the place floods every now and then, clearing up all the evidence." 

"As completely ecstatic as I am to be here," Mark hissed in his ear, the sound quickly dying into a whimper as he made eye-contact with a man twice his size, face completely ruined with burn scars. "Can we leave? _Fast_?" 

"Not as tough as you play up, Markie?" he teased, finally slowing to a stop before a hooded woman doubled over with age. 

"No, I'm not. And I'm not afraid to admit it." 

Donghyuck laughed under his breath, shaking his head before he leaned down to embrace the old woman. 

Except she wasn't old. The gnarled, bent woman unfurled, the hood covering her face slipping down as she hugged Donghyuck ferociously.

To say she was stunning was understatement. A middle-parted brown fringe stopping just before powerful, calculative eyes, and full lips painted an extravagant shade of crimson. She had an unearthly elegance that not even the Elite of Washington Sector could master.

Was she the lover that he kept sneaking out to see? 

"Yoona," Donghyuck greeted with a joyful face, devoid of honourifics. "How are you?" 

(There was an inexplicable flicker of pain in Mark’s heart). 

"I'm well, my dear." Her eyes turned to the general immediately, gaze narrowing with suspicion. It had Mark's heart racing, despite him still behind Donghyuck's shoulder.

"Who's your friend?" she said, her voice shifting from adoration to unadulterated hostility. 

Mark realised he knew the woman. 

" _Girl's Generation_?" he gasped, stepping out from behind Donghyuck. "Yoona?" 

Part of the Republic's greatest girl group a decade prior, Mark remembered Johnny being the band's fan, attempting to mimic the intricate choreography with Jaehyun in the living room. The pair would be drenched in sweat singing their hearts out, spending more time obsessing over the beautiful girls than actually studying. 

He sifted through the fragments of his memories trying to remember what exactly _happened_ with the insanely successful group. 

Yoona lifted her chin, exposing her neck to reveal a thick line of scarred tissue, as if assisting his memory. 

"You're supposed to be _dead_ -" Mark realised with a shock, stumbling backwards, flashes of the newspapers showing the woman's slit throat without a single inch of ink censored burning into his retina. 

"Hmm, I guess I am, aren't I?" she tossed back at him, with a girlish, plastic chuckle. "It's easier to fool the Republic than you think, Lee. And it's easier to be fooled by them too. Or would you prefer _Seo_?" 

.:*:. 

Donghyuck felt bile rise into his throat the second he had seen the recognition flash across Yoona's face. He had stepped closer to her, away from Mark, before she had said anything. 

  
And seeing the stranger dumbstruck made him realise that he had made the correct decision. He could literally see Mark stop breathing, see the way his heart stopped in his chest and the colour drain from his face. 

"It's just . . It's just Lee. H-He's dead," Mark forced out, after a few seconds of his mouth forming silent words.

"Johnny Seo is -" he paused to swallow, eyes briefly fluttering shut as if he were in physical pain. " _Dead_." 

"Hang on - how do you know each other?" Donghyuck demanded, turning to Yoona in confusion. 

The woman ignored him, merely offering Mark a canine smile. "The Captain of Lake squadron is dead?" she asked, unable to contain herself with delight. "Shame to see such a pretty man go. He was your cousin, yes?"

Shock electrocuted Donghyuck, gaze snapping to the skilled boy that genuinely _trembled_ before Yoona. He felt sick, seconds away from passing out. Mark was related to one of the highest ranking officials in the country, and stupid Donghyuck had lead him right into the heart of the underground. 

"He . . He was my brother," Mark said, so strained that he almost didn't catch the words. 

Donghyuck felt the gates of hell themselves open at his feet. He had been so _awful_ to Mark, believing him nothing but a shallow boy with overflowing pockets. It explained why he had found himself on the streets, riches to rags when a heartbeat had stopped. 

"Well I'm sorry to hear that," she responded, her razor smile suggesting the complete opposite. "Who's the new Captain?"

"General Yoonoh was promoted," he murmured, as if dazed. 

"Oh, he’s even _prettier_ than Seo,” she gushed, squealing like a girl. A madwoman. “And you?"

Mark's eyes finally stopped their gaping at Yoona, finding their way to Donghyuck. _Pleading_. 

"Noona, enough," Donghyuck snarled, voice far more forceful than he had ever dared to use with her. "You're _torturing_ him."

The once-sweetheart of the Republic crumpled her lovely face into a look of absolute, immoderate disgust, spitting at Mark's feet. "And so what? They’re capitalist pigs. They tried to have me _murdered_." 

Donghyuck assessed her anger, eyes scanning from the top of her finely done hair to her perfectly polished toes. Then he changed tactics. 

He pulled out the wad of cash from his pocket, giving Yoona a cheshire grin through half-lidded eyes. “You can have your fun with Lee - _Seo_ \- whenever you want. _I_ have twenty five thousand Notes on me, and I want plague cures and suppressants.”

Yoona’s gaze flickered between Donghyuck and Mark. 

“Aww, c’mon, noona,” he pushed gently, extending the cash further. He made a pointed effort not to meet Mark’s eyes as he jutted his chin in the taller boy’s direction. “Don’t give your pretty face frown lines. You can murder _him_ whenever you want, but you know _I_ don’t have time.”

“And you’re not attached to him?” she asked, her predatory smile slowly regrowing as she snatched Donghyuck’s money from him.

He cocked an eyebrow, stopping his muscles from sagging in relief. “ _Please_. Look at him. He’s stick thin - barely any fun in bed. You’d be doing me a favour by taking him off my hands.”

He expected Mark to cough pointedly, to make some sort of annoyed reaction ; but the ex-soldier was silent. Miserable. 

“How many people are you screwing, Duckie?” she cooed, sated now. She began rummaging through a multi-faceted box, taking of vials, pipettes and chemicals from different angles. “Susanna called me today, telling me about her pretty little toy.”

He finally chanced a look at Mark, who looked between Donghyuck and the cash with knitted brows.

Though his stomach sank, he didn’t let his facade drop. “Mark, Yeri, Susanna.. a few more,” he counted off his fingers in mock thought. “Why, are you offering?” 

She flashed him a devious look that mirrored his own as she mixed blue and purple solutions with strange white powders. “Turning to me after getting bored of fucking Renjun, are you?” 

Donghyuck snorted. “God no, I haven’t screwed Renjun, he’s far too in love with Jaemin and Jeno.”

”Polyamory is sexy,” she approved, capping the vials of drugs she had been mixing and wiping the glass of any excess solution. “Get in with all three of them.” 

“Madly in love isn’t my type,” he reassured her, taking the cures and suppressant from her.

The glint in Yoona’s eyes grew. “What a shame that Susanna is married then. Don’t let her husband find out, Duckie.” 

.:*:.

“So..” Donghyuck began, as he helped Mark out of the man-hole from which they had entered. 

He tugged on Mark too hard, over-estimating the well-built boy’s weight. The pair collapsed into the foul-smelling mud with a gut-wrenching squelch, the full sun letting out a whine.

Mark, to his surprise, only rolled off Donghyuck for his back to make contact with the ground next to them. 

Then: silence. 

“I know what it’s like to lose a family member,” Donghyuck whispered, looking at the clear sky, chocolate eyes searching for the brightest shining star. “My parents were taken into the concentration camps a few years ago... and my father had died six months in.”

No one at JJR’s had known the truth about the three brothers. Each of the four teenagers had their own secret stories, their own heartbreak written into their skin. It was a silent pact, to be by each other’s side through every raging storm but never truly divulging information about the past. It was truly love that held them together, cementing their connection despite never knowing the whole story, of standing by each other regardless of each scandal, tragedy and crime.

From his periphery, Mark’s head angled towards Donghyuck by just a fraction. 

There was so much pain written on his chiselled features, agony that Donghyuck didn’t think Mark would ever allow him to see - allow anyone to see. Soldiers weren’t programmed to show emotions. 

So he reached out, mud-soaked hand taking the hand of the boy he had known for thirty-two hours.

It was as calloused as his, the skin hard in patches with stories of rigorous military training, of hours spent learning to assemble guns and how to shoot rifles and unpin grenades. 

“Look at all these stars, Mark,” he whispered, turning his head back towards the sky. “You can probably name every single star and constellation - you can probably tell me who discovered them too.”

A breathy laugh came from his side, and he felt his heartbeat skitter. 

“To you, every star is another day of your old life. Every star is a training drill, a history teacher. And, well.. You don’t have to see the world like that anymore, Mark.”

The other boy tightened his grip on Donghyuck’s hand.

”Let the stars be stars, let them burn brightly into oblivion and let them be beautiful beyond comprehension. The stars are alive - and so are _you_. You are alive. And one day you _will_ you stand up and see the lights on the buildings and everything that makes you wonder. And you will be surrounded by the people who love you, be that in a dingy pub or the Republican senate. And it’s alright if that day isn’t today, Mark.”

Donghyuck became breathless from talking, his heart beating a little louder, a little faster.

Beside him, Mark was looking at the stars with crystalline eyes and a flushed face, droplets of mud drying onto his aristocratic features. Then he turned his face to Donghyuck’s.

”Thank you,” he said earnestly, sincerity coating his every word. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a real friend.” 

Donghyuck glanced down at their intertwined hands. 

“Yeah, alright, enough sap, mud boy. I’m done for the next seven business days. Leave your name and number at the desk, we’ll get back to you.”

Mark let out the greatest bout of laughter the criminal had ever heard. 

.:*:. 

To Mark, the walk back to the boutique was comfortable silence. He was exhausted, and he assumed Donghyuck was too. 

Their shoulders bumped occasionally, but their hands remained mercifully away from each other. Mark _hated_ affection. Even if the pink-haired boy was gentle. 

“Are you really screwing all those people?” he asked, curiosity bubbling out of him without warning. 

“Do you want to be added onto the list that badly?” he teased, taking a detour to what he recognised as the _Red Velvet_ bakery.

Mark’s cheeks flushed. “ _No_. It’s just that ... people at NEO - well, they never really talked about that stuff.” 

They stopped around the back, Donghyuck manoeuvring through a dozen bins and boxes to retrieve a hose. 

“Let me tell you something,” he said, and Mark noticed that his Lake accent became even more pronounced as the night went on. Perhaps it was a byproduct of being tired. 

But Donghyuck didn’t _look_ tired, expertly fiddling with the rubber and metal, despite all of his secret adventures of the day. 

“Your fancy rich sector people are _just_ as bad as us folk. Probably even worse. It’s natural to want to have sex, to forget your sorrows. But we don’t have _access_ to the education or resources you guys do. Our drugs are never pure, we don’t have any means of testing our STD status - any normal, human thing could get us killed.”

He turned on the hose, a steady stream of water jetting out. “Come here, there are timers on this thing and I want to be clean too. Oh! Careful..”

Mark gasped as the water hit his back, icy as it washed away the mud on his clothes and in his hair. “I’m going to _strangle_ you, Hyuck.” 

“It’s cold,” Donghyuck trailed off meekly, laughing at Mark’s chattering teeth and line of colourful curses. 

He reached out to run his fingers through the back of Mark’s hair; the soldier felt himself visibly flinching.

“ _Calm down_ , virgin, I’m just washing animal shit from your hair.”

It was an intimate gesture, one that blurred the lines of friends. It was an dangerous invitation to let a stranger so close to your neck, especially when you knew they could slice your throat or snap your spine.

But Mark decided that he knew Donghyuck’s heart - it couldn’t be Haechan, who murdered in cold blood. Donghyuck was.. Donghyuck. Raunchy, loud, witty, full of vice and love.

So he ducked a little bit, trusting him enough to allow Donghyuck easier access as he massaged his scalp and let the freezing water do its job.

And to his complete and utter surprise, Mark turned around and took the hose from his hand.

Donghyuck stared at him, dumbstruck.

“Chatterbox has nothing to say?” Mark teased, gently turning him around and soaking his back, as if he wasn’t shocked by his own willingness. 

The berry-haired boy let out a shrill cry, probably waking every soul on the street. To Mark’s utter amusement, Donghyuck squirmed under the cold and pressure, complaining where he had been silent. 

“Quit it,” he hissed, fingers tangling in Donghyuck’s hair to wash out whatever radioactive decay was between the strands.

”It-It’s _cold_ ,” Donghyuck snapped as Mark shut off the hose, hooking it back into its original, precarious position. 

“No one asked you to lay in the mud and go on your tangent,” Mark shot back, wringing his soaking shirt. “Now let’s _go_ before the poor people in this building chase after you.” 

Donghyuck stuck his tongue out at him, sopping hair leaving droplets running down the fine features of his face. 

“Put that tongue back, I don’t know where it’s been.” 

Donghyuck heartily shoved Mark.

.:*:. 

The pair made it back to the boutique, clothes drying fast with the midnight summer heat. They did their best to sneak into the abandoned building, to not wake the children, only to find Jisung and Renjun hovering over Chenle with nothing but worry painted on their face.

” _Where the fuck were you?_ ” Renjun growled at him in Mandarin, eyes resting on Mark instead of Donghyuck. There was a rage there he had never seen before. 

“ _I-I was at the black market_ ,” Donghyuck faltered, reaching into his pockets to retrieve the vials.

Chenle was wracked a coughing fit, a morbid, choking sound as a black liquid dribbled out of the barely-conscious boy’s mouth. _Blood_. 

Donghyuck sprinted for his little brother’s makeshift bed, nausea poisoning him.

Renjun snatched the vials from him, examining the labels with careful eyes. He opened the first one labelled _CURE_ in Yoona’s elegant handwriting, about to press it to the dying child’s lips when Jisung - 

“ _Stop_.” 

The mousy-faced boy guided Renjun’s hand to his nose, sniffing at the liquid with furrowed brows. 

“What are you _doing_ , Jisung?” Donghyuck demanded, grasping Chenle’s hand as another fit overtook him.

The boy merely ignored him, taking the glass from Renjun and letting a few slight drops fall onto his tongue.

Jisung recoiled, grimacing. 

Then despite everyone’s alarmed cries, he smashed the vial and lunged for Donghyuck.

“You absolute _fool!_ ” he screamed, pinning his older brother’s shoulders down. “Don’t you know what fucking _saltwater_ smells like? That’s food dye and salt in water, you stupid, _stupid_ fuck.”

The younger boy landed a successful blow to Donghyuck’s face, the criminal taken aback by his seventeen year old brother’s outburst and revelation.

Mark and Renjun worked together to try and peel the taller boy off Donghyuck, the medic kicking and screaming with hysteria.

“That’s why you failed your fucking Trials, you _idiot_! You _coward_! You don’t care about your brother enough to check if the fucking cures were _fake_?” 

And the world opened up under Donghyuck’s spine, swallowing him whole. Twenty five thousand Notes, his _virginity_ , his brother’s life - had all been for nothing. 

The plague cures were fake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m sorry i’ve left you all without updates these past two months. does this evil chapter kind of make up for it hehe >:)


	7. i was born to be a soldier. (i need an angel's hand, because the devil kissed me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for prostitution-related violence (mentioned only, not graphic)

Donghyuck propped his elbows up against the balcony railing, lost in thought with reckless, fantastic plans to save his little brother's life. Jisung had calmed down enough to be put to sleep, curled around the foot of his brother's makeshift bed. Renjun, though not speaking to the full sun, had exhausted all of his resources on herbal remedies to keep the orange-haired boy's heart beating just for the night.

He had seen Chenle's state. Jisung was right: he was stupid and cowardly, and he hadn't quite realised just how close the Angel of Death's scythe was from the young boy's throat. The suppressant had been real, at the very least. It gave Donghyuck a window of a day, a few hours perhaps, but it didn't ease the tension that knit his brows and clenched his jaw. What could change in a few hours that he couldn't have done already? 

His head hung, shame burning his face.

Quiet footsteps sounded behind him. Then, a warmth by his wounded shoulder. Mark offered Donghyuck a cool, damp cloth with a half-hearted crooked grin. "For the shiner." He looked as if he wanted to try and make a joke, to dissipate the solid fear, but thought better of it.

Donghyuck took the fabric wordlessly, but he was sure that the gratitude was written in his eyes. He just didn't have words. Didn't have bravado or swagger or _anything_ to go on, to save his brother's life.

"You know, Hyuck.. I could try.." The awkward boy began, half a dozen different emotions flickering through his dark eyes. Donghyuck's attention snapped to him, gaze narrowed at the eyes that wouldn't quite meet his, at the bottom lip caught between pearly whites."I can try talk to some of my friends back at NEO .. ask about plague cures. I can't xi anything but -"

He felt the cloth slip from his fingers as his heart stopped right in his chest. The entire city seemed to have stilled, even the summer breeze.

"You would really do that?" he whispered, hating how terrified and vulnerable his voice sounded in front of him. He looked at Mark with a cocktail of reverence and suspicion, unwilling to be indebted to him even more. Sure, they had been friends for about thirty seconds, and they’d had a few fairytale moments, but ... trust and promises were different. Dangerous.

Yet Mark's eyes were honest, dripping with sincerity. They spoke of ghosts that Donghyuck would never know, of burdens unspoken. As if he had read him, the dark haired boy frowned.

"You told me to stop looking at the world like a soldier," he said, his voice soft as the colour of the rising sun. The hint of light spilled powdered hues of pink, orange and gold across the horizon, the dawn approaching. "And now I'm going to ask you to do the same. Stop looking at the world like you're always running for your life."

_You have no idea, Republican._

"I would have done anything to save my brother."

Donghyuck blinked. It occurred to him that Mark was _begging_ , and the sheer impossibility of a soldier pleading with a street rat had him nodding without realisation. Desperation and guilt had worn away his bones, driven cracks into his heart and almost had his soul crenated.

So he took a deep breath and met Mark’s earnest eyes, too sad for someone so young. "Do what you can."

.:*:.

“Mark, you disappear for nearly forty hours and _now_ you come asking me to _steal_?” Jaehyun demanded incredulously, grip on his knife and fork tightening.

The restaurant they were in was probably one of the most expensive ones in the SM Republic of New Korea. Washington Sector had never quite disgusted Mark like it did today, after nearly two weeks on the streets. He hated how elegant his uniform was against his skin, hated how he smelled of lemongrass soap and detergent, hated how the rich folk around him laughed in merriment at their own absurd wealth. He wanted to _tear_ the chiffon curtains, melt down the cutlery traced with real gold, and take _goddy_ food he could see being thrown into the bin to Lake.

He truly understood Johnny’s hatred for the Republic in that moment. A secret part of him began to waver : if he had felt this critical after only a few days, what of those who suffered their entire lives? What about Donghyuck? About Haechan? Were they _justified_ —?

He pushed the thought away before finishing it. Haechan was a _murderer_ , and no freedom fighter could justify stealing breath from another man’s lungs.

Turning his attention to his would-be brother, Mark studied the way rebel strands of his caramel hair fell into Jaehyun’s eyes as he ate - the ever-poised soldier. However, his tofu cheeks were flushed, the badges on his uniform in the wrong order, a trace of gunpowder on his brow ridge. Those were little things Johnny had always taken care of. With gentle, loving hands, he would smooth Jaehyun’s hair back, would straighten his uniform, dust off dirt. Then he would beam at him like the treasures of the universe were laid bare before him.

And just like that, John’s death hit him with such a crushing blow that Mark’s very breath shuddered.

“I'm not asking you to steal? _Please_ , hyung. His brother is dying. It’s not like we can’t afford it."

Jaehyun put his knife and fork down, and assessed Mark with the exact same calculatedness that he possessed. That Commander Taeyong possessed. Johnny had possessed. The scrutiny of a high-ranking soldier. Taught and drilled into every man that passed through the gates of NEO with a Trials score greater than 1400. A gaze that tore into one’s soul enough to make even the most iron-cast person soil themselves.

“Everyone in the slum sectors is dying, Mark.” There was a soothing gentleness to Jaehyun’s voice he couldn’t understand — not when his words were acid. He spoke as if it were a simple, irreversible fact of the universe, as if he didn't have enough money sitting in his bank account to feed a dozen children for the next few years. “You can’t save everyone.”

“But you can try,” he combatted, fixing Jaehyun with a hard stare, gripping his cutlery. “I won’t have someone else die in front of me, hyung. This isn't a passing phase - I became a soldier to save who I can. To change the world." 

Captain Yoonoh frowned, his features beautiful even in anger and distaste. "And what? You'll do that one disadvantaged child at a time? Oh yeah, _great_ hero, Mark. You're delusional. Soldiers follow orders, they _kill_. You had blood on your hands the _second_ you stepped into NEO, the second you were born into the elitist class. You spent your _entire life_ as an accessory to murder, you understand? And in two weeks you think you're a _saint_? Look at you now, eating the bread from wheat that an old man spend hours in the sun cultivating, getting paid less than what the bread is even sold for. What are you going to _do_ , Mark Lee?"

And what a cruel thing grief was, turning brother against brother, letting blood between them run cold. The halo that Mark had always associated with Jaehyun flickered, turning to ash and flaking down around him. The shock left him wide-eyed, breathless. He was right - he let himself indulge in the warm meal before him, savoured the way tender lamb practically melted onto his tongue. Perhaps a selfish, awful part of him would always appreciate the advantages of the elite.

"Change is change, _captain_ ," he said with narrowed eyes and clenched jaw. Mark made eye contact with a nearby waitress, signalling for her to pack their meal into boxes so he could take them back to JJR's. 

Without further ado, he tossed a few hundred Notes onto the table to pay for the bill and shrugged on his military jacket over his button-down. "At least Johnny fought," he spat down at him. "You _know_ the system is wrong, you _know_ you feel guilty too. So are you just too gutless to do anything about it? Is that it, Jaehyun?" 

Mark's narrowed eyes fell down to the engagement band that still hung around Yoonoh's chest, and he scoffed. "How did he fall in love with a coward?" 

Jaehyun's fist to his face was answer enough.

.:*:.

“There are only two cures of three,” Mark said, wincing, as he handed the vials to Donghyuck. “Washington Royal Hospital is out. They’re expecting the next shipment in ten days.”

A strange cocktail of relief, fear and .. appreciation washed over the criminal as he examined the vials under the afternoon light. The cures were tinged a soft magenta, and they appeared to have a slight gold sheen to it the second it caught the sun’s light. Yoona’s cures had been a clear pink, close but not quite the replica of the real deal.

“Thank you, Mark,” Donghyuck murmured, emotion burning his throat as he met his eyes. He held the first few steps to the rest of his brother's life in his hands, a meagre few drops of solution to save a child's life, to ensure that one day Chenle would wake up with better eyesight, that his fingers would no longer ache when dancing over ivory piano keys, to give him the opportunity to fall in love with someone and maybe even begin a family of his own. “I can’t explain how much this means to me.”

The ex-soldier merely offered him a smile.

For his meeting that morning, Mark had cleaned up. He stood before Donghyuck with hair washed and swept back, smelling faintly of lemongrass and gunpowder. He was in a white shirt and grey sweatpants now, freshly laundered. A vision, really. An impractical vision that would be dirty with dust and mud within the hour, and yet enough to make a person’s heart skip a beat in their bruised chest.

Not that Donghyuck was particularly paying any close attention to it.

But there was a bruise on Mark's cheek, almost identical to the one decorating the criminal's. He didn't ask, but he guessed that Mark had gotten into a fight with a friend at his university. Someone who loved him, obviously. Donghyuck had been in enough street fights to know that when you hated someone, you aimed for their nose to shatter it irreversibly. Love held you back, it hurt you more than the other person. That much could be told by the slight purple-blue of Donghyuck's cheekbone versus the horrible splash of colour on Jisung's knuckles.

_So who loves you that much, Mark Lee?_

“If I can get the rest of the money before the end of tomorrow, do you think that you could go into Lake Hospital and get the last dose?” Donghyuck asked, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he fiddled with the glass in his hands. "They'd kick me out without a second thought. I'm too scruffy." 

Mark nodded crisply, a soldier once more. “Yeah, no problem. As long as you’re sure you can get it by tomorrow evening. We can start Chenle’s treatment today. But Hyuck, you _have_ to be certain.”

His heart began hammering in his chest as he thought about Renjun silently tossing him a letter, still locked in anger. The correspondence was from an older man, a Member of Parliament, who was asking for his services. The man offered enough for the three brothers to be living comfortably for the next few nights but.. Donghyuck was _terrified_. Absolutely petrified about what a night could mean, what would happen to his brother if he didn’t satisfy.

He didn’t let any of that show on his face. The full sun gave Mark a shit-eating grin and a knowing wink. “ _Please_. I’m Lee Donghyuck.”

.:*:.

Just over a week had passed since Mark had found his way into JJR, had started to make his way into Donghyuck’s heart. Two days of treatment, and Chenle was already sitting up on his own. Some colour had returned to his cheeks, but his hair still hung limp, his skin clinging to his bones and his irises full of blood.

As Donghyuck did his makeup the way he had watched Renjun do his for years, he couldn’t help but have his focus repeatedly drawn to Mark. He listened to Jisung parrot with extreme patience as he mopped the floors of the pub, ruffled Chenle’s neon orange hair, exchanged grins with Jeno who fixed the floorboards with a sweaty brow. Despite how oddly he stuck out with his rigid posture, with his fluid, expert movements that were wasted on chores, the kindness in his eyes and the bright, melodic laughter he offered was a perfect addition to their family of strays. 

_Republican pigs_ , Donghyuck reminded himself as he dabbed a bit of glitter on his eyelids.

Still, his heart protested. Mark wasn’t like the soldiers who had shot the boy clean through the bicep. Mark wasn’t like the soldiers whose airships Donghyuck had blown up. Mark wasn’t like the soldiers that had handcuffed his parents before his very eyes, pressing loaded rifles to their temples and shipped them off to labour camps.

Mark was awkward, driven, intelligent, overwhelmingly sweet with a cartoonish giggle, whose eyes twinkled in sunlight.

Donghyuck had messed up his lip tint.

Frowning, he turned his face away from his brothers and friends, cleaning up the stain and reapplying the rosy colour evenly. He _didn’t_ have a crush on a stranger. Things moved fast on the streets, people got hitched within months of knowing each other. A person wanted to experience life as a whole, not knowing when they would wake up dead. But Donghyuck wasn’t _that_ desperate.

He sprayed a touch of rosewater onto his skin before rubbing in a moisturiser that left him glowing with a pearly sheen. His cheeks were dusted with a pink pigment, cheekbones accented with a touch of shimmer, a tiny line of black gel along his eyelids to accentuate their shape, collarbones visible and contoured to a razor degree, and his petal-coloured hair artfully tousled and falling into his eyes. For good measure, he had one of fighting knives tucked into his boot, having lost the precious twin in Lake sector hospital.

He was too fucking good-looking to be walking into his worst nightmare. 

He packed up the cosmetics kits, ignoring the way his heart fluttered as Mark’s eyes never left his form. Donghyuck made his way behind the bar, rummaging through the cupboard before finding a bottle of tequila. He stuck his tongue out when Jeno shot him a disapproving look, taking a hearty swig and recoiling from the burn in his throat.

“Oh, that’s disgusting,” he coughed, capping the bottle, voice still strained from the kick. "Your vodka's better." Just as he was about to replace the bottle, he thought better of it and took another swig. Shaking his head violently to rid himself of the bitter taste, he heard Jisung giggling from behind him. "This tastes like fucking _gasoline_." 

"Hyung, I could probably handle my liquor better than you," he teased, puffing his chest out and high-fiving Chenle, as if he had just handed out the insult of the century. 

Donghyuck sniffed, putting the bottle away. He felt the alcohol burn in his stomach, loosening up the nerves that were taut with fear. "Yeah, yeah, alright. We'll see when you turn nineteen."

" _You_ drank when you were underage.." he muttered bitterly. 

"Hey! You have no proof!" he scolded incredulously, smacking him upside the head. "Don't say that stuff in front of a _soldier_ , you dweeb." 

Mark burst into a fit of giggles, and Donghyuck couldn't help but feel pleased with himself. 

"By the way, Hyuck," Jeno added. "Can you go see your girlfriend from _Red_ _Velvet_? She cornered me today asking where you were. She's fucking scary, dude." 

Just like that, Mark's laughter trailed off and the sheer awkwardness of the room was tangible, so thick it made Donghyuck want to douse his face. He avoided his eyes as he made a distasteful face, keeping his voice playful. "What the hell are you scared of? You're the best fighter in Lake and she bakes _cakes_ , you pussy. And she's half your damn height."

Jeno only rolled his eyes. "Go see her before you break the poor girl's heart. _Again_."

Donghyuck batted his glittery eyelashes exaggeratedly at his friend, hand on his chest. "Me? A heartbreaker? _Never_." 

.:*:.

Summer was undoubtedly the full sun's favourite time of the year. His and Jaemin's birthdays were the most important part of the season of course, but almost nothing beat the Solstice Festival on the twenty-first of June.

Already, people flooded the streets of Lake with traditional Korean masks, donning _hanboks_ and selling food that was almost never seen in the modern day, food like _tteokbokki_ and _gimbap_ , scents that made his mouth water. The American colonisation had done an excellent job of wiping out most of the Korean culture and language, but times like this, even the greatest soldiers put their guns down to watch age-old performances with reverent eyes.

If Donghyuck could just get enough _money_ for the last dose in Chenle's cure, he could take his brothers and Mark to the festival. They could stuff their bellies silly, buy decorative fans and lanterns, watch the parades and play the games. They could be at _ease_ , even if just for a few hours. 

  
And then would come the Fourth of July, a day that celebrated the invasion of Korea by the Americans. Without fail, for the past six or so years, Donghyuck had been causing trouble during the military parade. It took months of planning every year, but he had been falling behind because of Chenle's illness. At this point, a stunt at an army event with just days of planning would be a suicide mission .. but his precious streak. 

As Donghyuck made his way through the winding streets of Lake, he nodded his resolve.

Cure Chenle, take the family out for the festival, blow up the holiday. Easy, right?

It felt easy, especially with the tequila now prickling at the top of his skull and heating his skin. He felt braver about what he was going to do, it made the walk all the way to a dodgy motel in Ruby Sector easier. If Renjun could make a living like this, then Donghyuck shouldn't be plagued with terror over just a few meetings. 

His destination came closer, and the alcohol burned the insides of his stomach. As per usual precaution, he spent about twenty minutes going around the block in circles, peeking into alleyways and carefully scouting the area for tails, cameras or soldiers. Considering Ruby's significant affluence compared to Lake, the place appeared relatively more safe. With a racing heartbeat, Donghyuck gripped the tiny room key that had been tucked into the envelope that Renjun had given him, and he made his way into the motel. 

The place was shabby in a way that tried to hide that it wasn't. Dusty velvet rugs were thrown onto cracked floorboards, paintings hung over peeling paint. The staff glanced at him only once before knowingly turning their heads, blind to the abuse of the rich if it meant that they were paid at the end of the day. No one questioned him, asked him for identification or asked where he was headed. They all understood from the way he was dressed. 

It took him only two minutes and fourteen seconds to make his way to the hotel room marked 403. Not enough time for the full weight of his decision to properly hit him, not enough time for the fear to settle in. It took another five seconds to slip the key into the lock and turn it until he heard a _click_. He still felt like a phantom in his body. 

Only when Donghyuck slipped into the hotel room with an aphrodisiac smile, attention falling onto an older man almost a foot taller than him, did the realisation of what he was going to do hit him. Only when the man's disgustingly predatory eyes raked over his body, when he stretched out his slimy hands in welcome, did Donghyuck feel fear, true and raw, tear into him so violently that his windpipes tightened, air fighting to escape his lungs. 

_It's for Chenle._

Donghyuck kept his chin up, stretching his false smile wider. "How do you want me, sir?" 

.:*:.

"Mark, I need your help." 

Renjun wasn't one to ask for help, especially not with his brows knit together so tightly it seemed that the creases could never be straightened out.

"Yeah, what's up?" he asked coolly, not letting his confusion further aggravate the escort. 

"I-I wouldn't be asking, but I have to see a client soon .. and Jaemin and Jeno have to open the pub for the night.." not only was anxiety written on Renjun's perfectly done face, but _guilt_ too. What _exactly_ had he done to be asking Mark of all people for help with so much self-accusation?

"It's okay, Renjun," he reassured, his own hand brushing lightly against the pistol uncomfortably tucked into the waistband of his sweatpants. He had a sinking feeling that he may be needing it. "What happened?" 

"It's Hyuck," he began, breathless now. His Chinese accent became pronounced with the concern that saturated it, emotions warring beneath his skin. "I - uh - I sent him somewhere . . and he should've been back two hours ago. I-I dunno, can you just? Check the place out? See if he's okay?" 

Mark put a comforting hand on Renjun's shoulder, and was shocked to see the way he flinched under his touch. He couldn't help but narrow his eyes, suspicion leaking into his voice. "What did you _do_ , Renjun?"

"P-Please just take a look at the _EXOPLANET_ motel in Ruby Sector. Room 403. It's near .. the - the _TVXQ_ college." 

"He already walks around like he's got a target on his back," Mark began, an inexplicable anger rising with his voice. "Where the _fuck_ did you send him?"

Renjun only looked at him with swollen eyes, threatening to spill silver tears. A red flush began to creep up his neck at with Mark's scolding. Shame perhaps. " _Please_."

Cursing under his breath, Mark turned his back to Renjun with fury burning in his eyes. He wasted no time in slipping out of the pub with lethal grace, a certain calm blanketing the worry that the courtesan had ignited. 

Mark Lee was a soldier, one of the highest ranking soldiers in Lake and the goddamned SM Republic. He  would keep his head clear for Donghyuck. 

He clicked on his mic, not at all surprised to hear Jaehyun’s voice despite their fight earlier today. Guilt burned in him, crawling into a pit amongst his worry, for the horrible words that he had spat at his feet. Family fought, but Johnny’s death was supposed to bring them closer together — yet for one agonising moment, it had pushed them apart. 

“Send a motorbike to Lake Hospital for me,” he ordered, voice cool and collected, not bothering with an explanation. (A part of him wondered why his loyalties had frayed, why he didn’t want the SM Republic to know about JJR’s). 

Most of the time, Mark was the naive, nerdy little brother that drew his gun at his own shadow. But times like this, when his innate focus sharpened courtesy of rigourous training, he became a breathing weapon. 

The black haired boy raced to the hospital within twenty minutes, barely winded with a few beads of sweat dotting his hairline. The soldiers snapped into perfectly angled salutes as he mounted the fine machine, pressing his hand to the metal. Scanning his fingerprints, the expensive engine came to life, barely purring. 

He waited till he had driven out of the other soldiers’ lines of vision before he stopped the sleek bike, pulled up a holographic screen that floated in the mini windshield, and punched in the few lines of computer code that disabled the tracking device issued with every Army Vehicle. 

A trick of Johnny’s. 

Mark pushed the damning thoughts of  treason from his mind, his immaculate programming as a soldier protesting as he revved the engine and sped down the streets of the slum sectors. 

Naught but an arrow from Apollo’s own blessed quiver, Mark raced towards Ruby Sector, the map of the richer parts of the Republic spreading before his eyes. 

_I’m so sorry I complained about memorising cartography, Mr. Moon_ he begged silently. 

In the moments it took to navigate through the relatively smoother roads, Mark foolishly hoped and hoped and  hoped that Donghyuck was okay and had just lost track of time, stuffing his face silly with sweets or that he was flirting with some innocent merchant girl (actually, maybe not). 

And for a fraction of a second, when he spotted the flickering neon sign  EXOPLANET, he wondered when he had abandoned his mission for his brother.

Not caring that an expensive Army bike would cause a stir outside of a middle-class motel, Mark slipped off and into the building. 

He took in every detail by habit, but nothing quite stuck in his mind. When he tried to recall the colour of the carpets as he raced through the corridors, he found himself grasping at question marks. 

It was only until he had reached the door that Renjun had instructed that he realised he didn’t really have a plan. Shit prodigy. 

Pistol in hand, letting two deep breaths in and out of his lungs, the soldier carefully turned the doorknob, alarmed and yet relieved to find it unlocked. 

He pushed the door slowly, wincing slightly as the hinges let out a miniscule whine. 

Mark waited for a heartbeat, to see if there was a whisper, a shuffle of feet,  any sort of response before he shoved the rest of the door open, deeming the place empty. 

Only it wasn’t. 

Lying on a small bed with the sheets rumpled, spotted with blood, and littered with hundreds, no -  thousands of Notes, was Donghyuck. 

Sunkissed skin littered with bruises. Agile body tossed like a broken doll. 

.:*:. 

Mark didn’t need a perfect Trial score to put the pieces together, acid burning in his throat so harshly that he gasped. 

The sound was enough to make the boy stir, and relief at the sight of seeing him  alive sent Mark’s knees buckling as he stumbled dumbly forward, dropping his weapon. 

“Hyuck?” he tried, voice utterly wrecked. 

The criminal’s eyes opened only slightly, the makeup Mark had watched him apply so very carefully smudged around his lashes and in dried streaks down his face. 

He didn’t try to speak. 

Mark cursed himself for not bring water, a healing tonic from Renjun,  anything to help. He had silently prayed that the Skiz fighter would be unharmed. 

“C-Can you get up?” he whispered, feeling his face contort with devastation for a stranger.  No. His friend. 

Donghyuck seemed to muster all of his energy to shake his head, and Mark watched tears well up in his eyes - from pain or the embarrassment, he couldn’t tell. 

“Can I.. Can I touch you?” he asked carefully. “To pick you up?” 

Perhaps the last thing the shining man would ever want would be another hand on him, perhaps the disgust and fear from human skin would shatter him irreversibly. 

In a voice sounding so hollow that it seened to engulf light itself, Donghyuck only whispered. “Money first.”

“Oh,  _Hyuck_.” 

And despite the repulsion that flooded through him, Mark began collecting the Notes. 

He refused to count the paper, refused to see the price that Donghyuck had paid for his soul. For his brother’s life. 

With a heart so heavy he feared it would tear right out of his chest, Mark pocketed the filthy money. He lifted his grief-stricken eyes to Donghyuck’s, who had only watched him with emptiness, lying so still that Mark wondered if every breath caused him pain. 

He couldn’t see the stars in his eyes anymore. They had winked out, extinguised by all that had happened in these past few hours. 

“If you’re ready,” he said, his voice barely a breath. He strode towards the bed, swallowing the roiling nausea inside, hoping that his stride was solid and reassuring. 

But Donghyuck said nothing as his gaze dully followed Mark, any hint of the mischievous king of the underground that had taunted a warrior in a death pit had disappeared. 

With hands gentle as doves, Mark scooped Donghyuck up, bloody sheets and all. The metallic and salty smells curled in his nose so suddenly that he almost emptied his stomach over his friend. 

His face buried itself in the soft spot between Mark’s shoulder and chest, lithe and scarred legs slung over his arm. 

He was so cold against Mark. As if he didn’t want to waste breath on keeping his body warm, only alive. 

No one questioned them as they exited the building. No one turned to look at them or offered them help. 

And when Mark realised that he couldn’t take the bike back to JJR’s for the seat hurting Donghyuck, when vagrants averted their eyes on the streets as he carried the golden boy the whole one hour journey back to Lake Sector, when Donghyuck had let out broken sobs and gasps of pain against his heart . . . 

Mark wished that Haechan would burn the city to ashes. 

.:*:. 

Mark hadn’t left Donghyuck’s side. 

_ He had entered through the back door so as to avoid scaring the living shit out of Chenle and Jisung. He had laid Donghyuck in the owners’ bed. He couldn’t bother Jeno or Jaemin, both running the pub that night.Renjun hadn’t yet returned.  _

_ Good.  _

_ Mark would have shattered every bone in his body on sight.  _

_ Vaguely remembering a sleeping draught from one of his chemistry lessons at NEO, grief a painful cloud around his head, Mark had rummaged through Renjun’s belongings and brewed the tonic.  _

_ Then he had waited until Donghyuck was fast asleep to grab a washcloth and bucket of warm water. Slowly, carefully, patiently, he had wiped the blood and sweat and ruined make up from his skin.  _

_ He had been so gentle, terrified when Donghyuck winced from the pain even in his sleep. He had snarled at Renjun when he had tried to open his bedroom door, shooting the man a glare that promised pain. Then he had dejectedly given the Notes to Jaemin for the final plague cure, the sweet boy’s eyes sadder than Misery herself. He had given Donghyuck his own freshly washed clothes that he had brought from his trip to Washington.  _

_ Then, he had clutched Donghyuck’s hand, sitting on the wooden floorboards, brow pressed to the bed frame and for the first time in years, he had truly prayed.  _

“Is Chenle okay?” were the very first words out of Donghyuck’s mouth hours later, when Mark had seen him stir. 

He was up on his feet in a flash, military training kicking in as he grabbed the water bottle by his knee and held it to the pink-haired boy’s split lip. 

“Jaemin gave him the last dose,” Mark said softly. He studied his face, watching for any flicker of pain, any indication of discomfort. “You did it, Hyuck. With your heart of fire, you _saved_ your brother.” 

Mark felt his heart fracture for the thousandth time by the beautiful boy in front of him, as he turned his golden face to the sky and let his tear-coated lashes flutter shut. A sigh of relief danced out of his lips, and his body untensed and sank into the mattress. 

Though Mark had denied it as infatuation at first, his feelings were inescapable now. He didn’t know when he had gone from accusing Donghyuck as Haechan to opening his heart to him — the night when he had sung to Chenle? Or the night at the black market? Or when he had first laid his eyes on him, a hellish fiend in an illegal tournament? Regardless . . . whatever was left of Mark belonged irrevocably to the male before him. 

But assessing the finger-print bruises that adorned Donghyuck’s chin and neck, he pushed those feelings away. Locking them somewhere in his heart, right beside the treasured memories of his brother. He wouldn’t want another’s touch. Not now. 

As if he had heard him, Donghyuck’s golden eyes, soft as melted honey, flicked to Mark. “Thank you. For everything.”

And despite his self-control, despite all of his years as a soldier that had taught him to control his muscles, to make every move deliberate, Mark found his thumb grazing Donghyuck’s cheekbone. 

To his utter surprise, he leaned into his touch. He didn’t flinch away. 

And as Mark kneeled by the bedside of the boy made of fire and kindness and everything wicked, hand cupping his face as the other fell asleep once more, he couldn’t help but look to the heavens. 

_Johnny_ , his soul whispered.  _He breaks my heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m sorry if this is too dark. leave your thoughts below and i promise i’m back with regular updates now <3

**Author's Note:**

> please share, bookmark and kudos as well as leave your comments. i love reading them all ♥️


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